Bitter Wine and Mefloquine

the brain of the crain pt 3

2012-01-18T22:51:00.000-06:00

Living A Real Life

Dr. Stiller loved neuroscience. He handled the matter very seriously. He planned every step of his research. He also handled all sensitive equipment and research material himself. Every night before he left the lab he would personally inspect each brain. Once a month he would change the blood tubes himself. It was a waking nightmare of his that someone else would be the fault in his experiments. He must know every step himself and the easiest way for him to do that was to do it himself.
Technically he was what might be considered as their father, and he treated each with that inspiration in mind. He had nurtured them since creation and had taught them things as they grew, as if each were really a child. Some nights, he would just stand and stare into the room. The glass barrier between him and his children as the slept and dreamed electromagnetic dreams.
If Stiller was the father then Niri Usala was the mother. Niri was the cognitive scientist and had a superior understanding of the mind. She was top of her class at MIT, and was an active member in the cogsci club. There were six members, all of which she was still friends with today. They were her family and the reason she got her PhD.
Now this was her family. Six brains and an antisocial coworker who fogged up the glass standing there looking at the unreal objects floating in synthetic amniotic fluid. Blood pumping in and out through smooth grafted tubes. Computer screens filled the walls, showing constant scans and data being collected at that moment. A giant screen in the middle displayed the vital signs, minus a heart beat. The blood is constantly flowing through the veins and capillaries giving the brains life. They had to use human blood, the staff gave twice a week. Their checks were a little larger for it, but for some it was worth it to be a part of this experiment physically.
Stiller looked like he was giving a quart a day. His cheeks were sunken in and his skin a pale white. Niri was just happy that he cleaned himself and everything around him meticulously. It kept him busy around the lab and it was better than watching him stand there dreaming about god knows what.

the brain of the crain pt 2

2012-01-05T21:16:00.000-06:00

They called him Crain. Crackheads in the park called him C-rain. Each time they say it with the same vigor they had when they started. They were smoking cigarettes, pockets full of change on their way to a CoinStar machine, because no dealer wants to mess with change. That would be a fruitless trip, but with that hard in hand they can make it the night. Crain weaved back and forth through crowds. Hipsters on bicycles wearing their bicycle shorts disgusted him. He couldn't understand how they would willingly dress up like that when they have the afternoon off. The crowds of tourists slid by, like a fish going upstream he hobbled and hopped his way around people in wheelchairs and kids in strollers.
It started going bad when he felt like he was the center of attention for a moment. He started finding a rhythm with his movement and started making his "excuse me"'s and "pardons" go in time with his movements. He started adding in well coordinated and efficient and well timed movements. Past the ladies walking their dogs and by the old people with groceries he whirled and spun. He felt theatrical. People started noticing him coming and couldn't conceal their smiles. He picked a flower from the courthouse planters, he skipped forward whirling around a blue flower in the air like a love-sick madman. He saw a pretty girl as he was spinning and handed her the flower, she hesitated, still walking forward trying not to smile. She slowed to a stop and he placed the flower on the ground in front of her and said "pardon me", and gave a smile. He jumped up, spun around and started strutting forward shaking his body side to side with enthusiasm.
People had stopped and started watching this man in a dirty coat, holey gloves, with ragged hair and a dirty face. Some people speculated he had just won the lottery. As he approached a fountain he jumped onto the ledge and drank from the angel that was spitting into the shell where he stood. He spit the water into the air above his face and let it spill back onto him. He let out a yell. "YEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHH"
Everyone looked at him and backed away. He made a face at a little girl and she almost cried immediately. Luckily he was at the liquor store and spun inside leaving his spectators behind, knowing he was stopping in just the kind of place they thought he might be dancing off to. He bought a bottle with crisp bills.
* * *
"Two-hundred fuckin' dollars per page she said"
Crain was talking to an older man. The two looked like they could be brothers. Sitting together you could see the other man had years in his eyes beyond that of a lot of men. He would be the father to every man he met. It wasn't just a show, the man had seen the road. He had seen generations of road, of the country, of the people in the world. He had no new left inside of him. He might get red faced if he ever had a 5 star treatment.
"you have hundreds of those papers, how many could she want?" the man replied.

brain of the crane pt1

2012-01-01T00:32:00.000-06:00

The bank account was empty. Every day he would check. Each time disappointment. He thought that by some misfortune of the banks he would suddenly see his available balance rise. He was implementing the power of positive thinking. He bought lottery tickets with the same mindset. The account never rose. The winnings never outweighed the loss.
When will the gods decide to bless my digital holdings? Not always exactly, but often enough these were his thoughts. When he got home at night, he would repeat his mantra over and over in his head, sometimes even mouthing the words aloud. Gods of chance and change, shine good fortune onto me.
He was never religious. He came from a family of half-assed protestants. Not that they could rightfully distinguish any of the facets of Christianity, but it seemed the easiest for them to say. No, and he was not aware of any true gods of chance and change, but he placed a faulty mental note to check at the library next time he was there putting in applications on the state employment services website. This faulty mental note went into a pile of other seemingly useless ideas that rarely got shuffled in his mind. Memories are a tough thing to perfect, sometimes it is hard to even remember ones name.
The bottle of whiskey was easy to open, easy to empty, but sometimes too difficult to refill. He had given up on chasers all together. He never thought he would be the man drinking whiskey straight from the bottle on a park bench on the outskirts of the city. He remembered a time when alcohol would make him cringe as he sipped it, now it went down the gullet with the ease of fresh water. With those watery gulps, the current situations often warmed his stomach and dissipated throughout his body.
In the mornings he would wake up with a dry mouth that tasted like the last drink and smokes of the night. He often found the ground around him littered with paper. Torn newspaper, notebook sheets, sheet music all scattered in no organized pattern. On each of them were small black frowning faces. Circle, dot, dot, semi-circle. Upon his first morning after examination he was surprised to find them. Drawn with no set pattern, some almost perfect circles, and others like amoebic blobs. He didn't remember drawing one of them.
He would shake off the cold this morning and find more, the papers were getting unmanageable, but he couldn't bare to throw them out. Sometimes the few hours of sobriety in the morning were the only true moments he was himself. Newly optimistic, hungry, and searching. It was funny for him to think about searching. It seemed such a subjective term. Weren't we all searching from our nature, evolutionary pattern. You must always be seeking, creating, dying all at the same time. He didn't think there was much difference between searching the cracks in the ceiling, and searching for a place in life. The crack searching was the more tangible, the visible, the exposed and obvious. It was all of the existential, philosophical, and endless searching that seemed the unnecessary evil.
He was searching through the black faces one morning on a bus ride to the First Presbyterian food pantry when she sat next to him. When a lady in a yellow pea coat came on the bus he didn't notice. He did notice that he hadn't been noticing lately. He remembered when a nice set of legs would drive him mad. He had not grown bitter or conscious of his transition, he seemed to just slowly slump away from the instincts he was born with, and did not find it a tragedy. The woman sat next to him, even though there were many open seats which she could have chose that didn't involve sitting next to the man with the ragged face and dirty fingernails reading old sheet music (which happened to be smeared with frowny faces).
When she sat down her shirt rose up to mid-thigh. She had black stalkings on and he could see the edge where the garter met the nylon. He couldn't look at her face now, now that he had seen something intimate. He wanted to look at her face dearly, but in some form of shame he turned his eyes back to his paper. He couldn't look though. He kept seeing her leg in the corner of his eye and the mystery built. He saw the woman walking in his head. He could make out her movements, see her from the side with her shining handbag and expensive shoes. He could not put a face on her, he tried. He tried because he thought if he gave her a face his temptation to look up would defuse. This tactic did not work. Looking at the paper he began chanting his mantra.
"Excuse me?"
He heard the voice clearly. It came from the woman. The leg seemed to gesture for him to look up. He could feel the sweat bleeding from his hands into the paper. He wouldn't be surprised if the ink soaked into his hands. He wanted to look up. Fighting himself, his instinct and seemingly the universe, his head turned upward to where the sound came from.

To be continued...

a class of idiot

2011-09-04T01:16:00.000-05:00

all our heads are filled with the same words
each as drab and burning as the next
its a miracle that we push forward
each with different colored shoes,
but all still protecting our feet
the thinking man gathers much moss
he slumps down in chairs
consumes the world with sad stares
joins in chorus when one is needed
monsters inside each
feeding
oh well the diatribe of the demented
falls on ignoring ears
the symphony, the melody forgotten
replaced with malady, malignancy
broken bottles and empty cans
litter the streets and invade
on the hoping spirits of weak
Will I wreak havoc on wandering hearts
which slash tires with little thought
a beginning of an ending a miracle
and a loss
spin the wheel ride the ride
shut up and sit down

crying does nothing

2011-09-01T18:38:00.000-05:00

It isn't entropy that kills a man, it is thought. Mine come down like a hammer on my spine and store that pain in my back and legs. It's deep inside. A blackened sickness, tiredness from futility. Working for nothing, not being able to be loved or love at all. Losing senses slowly, painfully taking steps toward another fantastic nothing, waiting for the winds of change, but change comes from within and my within in jammed with all that before. One day we all die and fill up those graves, that earth, returned to the stink the stench we trudged through just to get this far. Just to find a wink of compassion from a nurse or a doctor in charge, just to find ourselves but that never happens because we are nothing, everything is nothing and nothing is disgusting.

Birth of Genius

2011-08-16T15:35:00.000-05:00

It should be a god damned national holiday. The bureaucrats surely wouldn't understand. 91 years ago today Hank Bukowski was spit into this world, and I am thankful for it. I am drinking cheap beer and day dreaming about my own life as an avant garde crude manipulator of line, verse, idea, philosophy. One thing Bukowski said that will always produce veins in my consciousness was, " I'm the hero of my own shit" Exactly what I should strive for, because in my mind I am the hero, never the villain. I made mistakes but most heroes do. If I had more money in the wallet or in the bank than negative I would but bottles of cheap red wine and brandy to give to the homeless and down people of my city. I have no place in the world, but that is ok because Hank didn't either. Cheers.

how to dismantle things that are working fine

2011-06-18T05:20:00.000-05:00

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

at the moment

2011-06-18T05:04:00.000-05:00

curses
run
deep
I don't know
what
my ancestors
did

luck
sticks
i
must be
teflon

empty
glasses
are
all I
see

strange beings

2011-06-17T05:39:00.000-05:00

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.

diggital shoestring theory

2011-06-17T04:15:00.000-05:00

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

just

2011-06-16T03:45:00.000-05:00

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.

today I started to care about privacy

2011-06-15T20:24:00.000-05:00

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.

check please

2011-06-15T07:02:00.000-05:00

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.

sheridan stop blues

2011-06-15T06:23:00.000-05:00

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.

open water IV

2011-06-09T08:52:00.000-05:00

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.

could you be loathed

2011-06-08T17:21:00.000-05:00

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

2011-06-07T00:13:00.000-05:00

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

spoonful of chlorine

2011-05-26T15:00:00.000-05:00

i'm not asking for your heart in a paper bag, nor ball and chain for you to wear around like a prisoner. i've spent time on the outskirts of time, where the days go slow and all you can do is watch dust settle on your lonely bones. I've painted pictures, written symphonies, and told stories never heard before inside my head on the borders between nothing and even more. i still remember hanging chemical lights at dusk, to make us see so that when death comes thrashing we were not all blind. now i am a light. i shine bright and stand tall with a damaged backbone. the pain washes in and out. the sadness always leaves eventually. im counting my fingers every day happy they are still there and I can read, ride a bike, or listen to your voice. i've been stepped on and stepped over since, washed and rinsed, hung to dry tear stained and not knowing why i try. i've been fed well and starved, degraded and pried apart, changed and rearranged and I still have empathy, drive and somehow a loving ability. the leaves have gotten green again and we find ourselves at winters end, the world of opportunity for the young and without love, as we stream through the world searching for substance and fun. i can't help but feel not up to par at the moment. I cant help but feel that the world pulls at the strings that it knows will hurt me. bleeding for the god's enjoyment, making me hate the things I cannot change and escaping the grasps of the throes of love because I want what I can't have, and what i do have is breaking me. i don't need anything, i'm built to last, my line is cast and quickly sinking, always hoping words i'm sending will redeem me for being forward and fleeting. it's so fucking cold here, like most places I have been, like those hearts i have seen and held and tried to warm up to me. can't be happy because I am not worthy. i can't find love because love no longer wants me. i can't change minds because mine is collapsing under pressure, i've got an unbreakable chain between emotion and pleasure that makes me treasure you, makes me want to see something through, for once, for joy, for my own well being. i don't want your ship to just skim by and go missing. i don't want to lose my minds pictures of laughing and kissing, as i move forward you are distancing, and no one is witnessing because no one knows you even mean anything to me, because no one knows we have anything. as you cheers, or kiss, as you drink life from your single serving cup get drunk and live it up, because you know you can find love, will find love, will be something to someone, and god I wish that someone was me.

Everything we say is theoretical and subject to disection

2011-05-20T14:29:00.000-05:00

Man was at first trained and conditioned by nature. It was the rise of communication that allowed my species to assimilate the world around and therefore begin to speculate in a verbal way the experience of living. Each of us carries a torch inside of us, our only duty is to keep the fire burning and survive the violent storms that fling our fellow beings into the abyss. We may try and save the ones we can, many are part of that unknown force that helps to send these beings on that journey into the unknown. Speculation surrounding that unknown ranges far and wide, to unseen and unheard beings, forces that guide existence in some way. Without concrete, programmed, or divine guidance it is difficult to find hopes for some similar existence when our matter is returned once again to the cycles of the universe. Or to hear the calls of the gods within ourselves to become what is meant for you. Most fall short in accurately describing the true reason for existence.
As we rose, in recent history, into an age of consumption and assimilation I see no definite or great future for this world. I am sorry for all war waged until now. Every death and moment of solitude, confinement, or second of pain, fear of everything, loss of friends, family, and men and women of inspiration. I am sorry for the pollution, the corruption, and the ability for like minds to be subdued and broken down by the destructive forces that gain in numbers and power everyday. Entropy increases with time, and Klimpt once said "To be truly great you must live outside of time". It is difficult to do so, when you stand back and see the "powerful" (monetarily and politically usually) subject the major population to exclusion through corporatization of resources. Options for living and keeping the torch burning are not designed with the worker in mind but the production and consumption of said resources. When someone spends their entire life building a life and burning a torch through the lavish consumption of goods by their peers and fellow beings, is it possible to maintain a respect for existing, or gain some better insight on existence that is not merely attributed to the decay of the mind (not to say that our minds are always sound). When I thought of this, I thought of the first inhabitants of this country, the men and women who were tangled in wars of ideas and opportunities. If they were here today after giving their lives, and sometimes everything they have, their children, would they look upon us and say "these are my descendants and they fought for a right and just world consistently", will I say that in a hundred years after I had fought in Afghanistan? When I see and hear of the darkest this world has to offer, I have heard the calls of the revolutionaries and none seem in noble positions for an enlightened being, there are few great men and we may never see many because of the exclusion of image and information.
There are no banks in the abyss

what do you go home to

2011-04-06T06:05:00.000-05:00

i am a shadow on a cave wall
i am a dog at the door hungry for the bell
i give up and get down
wake in time for nothing
this cold stint I'm doing here is getting inside
the cell is getting smaller every day. i hope. i eat. struggle with fears, doubt, and other peoples emotions. it's a spiral into space where it gets harder to breathe. the gods are closer there
we are turning into something sterile, my heart cant take it anymore
when i grow, i gallop, seeking future events like a lost and lonely lion of the night
when i die the earth sits still as i drift. looking back at the ripples I see the trail i have waded , the carnage i push to radiated shores.
we are becoming nothing, but lost ones
hold me til the morning at least darling, speak soft and happy into my mourning ear, my sad cut away of everything, tiny bones like machines absorbing your energy, to waves i can believe
my genesis is in the tiny chains that bound our ancestors
not built to survive, just able to live
i am in the burning pit and hope that not all we saved is lost today
stagnantly staggering making haste only losing taste
from black smokey lines grasping me wildly into the night
nothing beats time, it's erosion and decay
the ruler of all i know and say

Devil's Laundry

2011-03-22T02:31:00.000-05:00

27 years of solitude

2011-03-16T05:49:00.000-05:00

anger cried moving forward into battle, at odds with others and ideals
some lie and lying is done for in a mind hardened by the heat of existence
plates readjusting spewing ash and molten embers
the cold alone is unforgiven and the waves crash upon shores i know no more
i never knew the ones receding, melting down to a core long forgotten
nature chooses who the plague moves to and destruction is evident
in all of those who choose to will these fleeting moments forward
a dollar is only a dollar as a million a million as well
work isn't anything when taxes pay the interest of the greedy the sitting
stagnant leading with gleaming evil eyes
in dark corners there is imbalance where the rest are exposed in full light
and grand tunes play not in the ears of the wicked little ones rolling in
thousand dollar sheets tonight
bank, but don't bank on me, don't pay your organizational fee, flee from something, nothing but smiles, dark hair flowing glowing skin ready for a change
god save the king, that is me, as the circus pulled in years and days stretch and zing

1st Guest Blogger Tim Elliott

2011-02-25T18:23:00.000-06:00

Tim Elliot is a dedicated supporter of our troops and advocate of veterans' benefits. He's just starting blogging but look for more of his writings to come.

Asbestos

Have you ever heard of asbestos? It’s deadly. It causes the cancer mesothelioma, and thousands of veterans have it due to exposure while serving. Before it was known that asbestos was dangerous the military built everything from roof shingles to cloth with it, and millions of soldiers have been exposed to it. Mesothelioma takes a long time (twenty to fifty years) before it starts to really negatively affect the body, and it is just now that many veterans are beginning to find out that they have it.

Can you imagine the hopelessness, the bitterness, and the biting cruelty that would have to accompany such a diagnosis? To learn that the mesothelioma life expectancy is only a year or two, that you’re not expected to live longer than a year or two? It would be devastating in any circumstance. To hear that, and then to hear that it’s likely because of the time you spent in the military. The fact that you made it through all the trials and tribulations, and survived only to find out years later that cancer from then is going to take your life anyway is just unbelievable. Or the helplessness, because the whole time you thought that trouble breathing was nothing serious only to find out it is a mesothelioma symptom ? It’s absolutely unbelievable that some people have to go through this, after they’ve already been through so much.

If you find out early enough that you have mesothelioma there are options for surgeries that will treat the cancer, but the prognosis is poor. So the best thing to do if you think you’ve been exposed to asbestos is to talk to your doctor and get screened regularly for it.

2011-02-17T04:54:00.000-06:00

man is monster and innocence is lost in accumulation
woman is a beast and purity is compromised in acquisition
children are sirens, loud and crashing into each other, further from control
mothers are just as lost as the rest of us,
makes me feel wisdom is not age or experience,
but rather something we start with
a certain perception
a stranger on a train recognizing something in you
that you hadn't known in years
wondering if that is a good thing
who am i now that this person saw, maybe a shadow of who i was another time
i want to hide them and talk about them
as my face turns red

get off the train and go to the bar

a girl smiles and laughs gives advice takes a little interest
i shelter heartache with smiles

a blur, a tired tired blur

another reaches out and i retract
in fear in lonely shallow hollow fear
disinterest

bitter mouth fool

2011-02-11T05:47:00.000-06:00

i got a chip on my shoulder. can you blame me. i have a sudden fear of growing older. I need something to fill this loss of motivation inside of me. I need sun. I feel like a shipmate on a voyage through winter, getting cabin fever. I'm a natural imaginationist. i pull myself out of the gutter with the leaves and challenge the passers on the street. Pride vs enemies inside, quality of life, live and let die, hello goodbye dramatic change in dialogue eh? i get you got you got you good good going from bad to worse so worst worth work and warm dirt silk shirt shure sure big sur to surf and turf walking on water galloping golliwags giggling and guzzling gobs of golden grapes in juice getting to go through the moves until one day the situation improves but not too loose cuz then u lose lost sense scents scants of selected silly sayings rants alley cats scratching backs wearing slacks smoking cracks in shacks with shaq and whitney u shittin me me me me yes where is this going going going going gone and gone isn't wrong it just isn't here................or there................ I'm not sold on destruction and cycle. I'm not bought on destruction and cycle. I'm not old on destrctionandcycle. and the chain broke. songs of mad men on mad floors in mad places with bad doors i'm glad i'm not sleeping in my own urine tonight ladies and gentlemen. I'm glad if i listen just right the plastic bag pattering in the breeze sounds like ocean waves on a neon velvet painted night.
jibbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiissssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhh
sleepless fool burning lamp oil of life

grimy gus blues

2011-01-27T22:33:00.000-06:00

the grime of love built up inside us
our sharp edges were scraped dull
from being together, from the weight of want
you reading this now are as leveled out and desperate for love as each other one.
some hide in the cupboards with shame
others fight all monsters with thoughtless rage
goals keep us from thinking of being
being gets in the way of achieving
sleeping blinking still and moving
imagining thinking seeing
only the holy reach for glory in the face of adversity
mind and brain aligned willing and forcing me
media corporate fast gorging on need
capital gluttony

shutting us out bureaucratic symphony hitting a soliloqy
disparity leads to sarcasm transforms to sadness and aching
hope on a string drifts just outside your window
curtains open letting soft summer sun in
all that dirt grime and dust weighs down your sides, and the window just isn't big enough
sitting in sorrowful stupor look at the lamp spilled in the shuffle shut the window
and the curtains as well
grimy gus shutting out the sun which he has shunned
bearing the burdens of what he has done
from door to dull drab everything seen so much before
home to check check double check check everything once more
kicked out gaslight gone out outside the world lost alone
sleep bench bed time good night walk work reprise
who am i alone in a room full of thoughtful minds and silent souls
this is the end of the line

empty fortune cookie

2011-01-21T17:40:00.000-06:00

you should be happy and love
when i was in Afghanistan I was doing something a lot of people would not or could not do. I was serving, and earned respect from those back home. Something I never really had before. Being there I didn't feel like I was worth anything. I felt like no one or no thing would miss me if I were gone. I felt that a rocket today could be the memorial service of next month, and then anything I had hoped to do would be for naught. I find myself tracing deep routes through memory, pushing the grass down with the hopeless steps into past and regret. I learned to do this sitting on a mountain, running out of books and afghani bootleg dvds, writing and interweaving my experience with some imagined heroic fiction. listening to the fuzzy radio stations through a cheap boombox i picked up from a bazzar outside the gate, listening to the jackals bark into the night as I watched clouds move like white lace through the starry sky. I meant something to my howitzer, to the guys on the op's getting shot at in the distance, tracers shooting out like green and red laser beams. Days went by like a dream, but each one strong with its moments. a memorable time indeed.

2011-01-19T05:01:00.000-06:00

it's rotten, inside your sad eyes
all the self loss
given up everything for
nothing, and nothing is too fast becoming sacred

when will my bones align so i can sleep at night
where is that little pill that makes my brain work right

the dark hearts and nihilists see stars in their eyes
quick to feed with pride like lions
they are lonely jackals inside

existence FAQ

2011-01-15T13:45:00.000-06:00

what do i know of balance?
in the beginning space petrified. It turned into solid dark blocks. Gravity warped these blocks, and as they warped energy was generated. The energy collected and the pressure built, then... BOOM! fiery bits of energy break apart the still space. As it cools and slows, somewhere in a medium temperature zone, a medium electromagnetic area, globs of energy solidify. Stars and black holes spin neighbors through curved space, and in those dying rides life is born.
but what does it matter?
There is no architecture for existence. This space and space of being is a physical one that just is, like you wake up in the morning and the floor was always there. There is no mold, no genius pulling strings, but instead natural laws that limit, not govern, the procession and being of all things.
who am I then?
I am you are we are all together. As the little pieces, the tiniest particles of matter are slowing they vibrate. An unimaginable amount of these exist throughout the visible universe, and they smash into each other constantly. With all of these energy waves vibrating another form of matter is created. Life.
From bacteria to plant to animal to man, our ancestors broke through to form the most complex patterns in the universe.
does that make life another law of the universe?
which came first: the eye, tongue, ear, or skin?
its hard to say what life is. Philosophers and scientists have debated throughout written history on what exactly existence is, and how one should react to this sudden existence, but the truth is that very little is known about the meaning of life. I think that if all the senses were developed simultaneously then the possibility of a god is more likely than i previously determined. If the senses were developed two at a time or less I believe the possibility of life being a natural law of the universe and our existence and thoughts are all just more ways for it to reach out from the place where it sprouted.
Is there other life in the universe?
If life is a natural law of the universe then the possibility is highly likely that there is other life similar to ours in the universe.

axons of evil

2011-01-13T20:41:00.000-06:00

want is my torturer
instinct is my demon
fight and flight mechanisms
turning gears with triggers too sensitive
grinding against oiled parts creaking annoyance
shaky fear turning into avoidance
I want salvation to be woman's beauty
soft things that smell fresh and sweet
when i was young i dreamed success and creation
now i dream of finding a real sure thing
the devil may have the industries
let us have the truly amazing
the golden moments of love and suffering
the highs and lows of happiness and tragedy
without medicating, closing natural synaptic gaps
using artificial means, breaking the system
ending the bad dreams

i remember a dream where i was floating through the house. It was black and white like an episode of leave it to beaver, or The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis maybe. Everyone was amazed at my new skill though i found it hard to navigate through the house being pulled up to the ceiling. I opened the door and started floating up. I couldn't control my path, acceleration, or speed. I looked down lazily, dreamily, traveling up. It grew darker as i pulled away. Soon I was in the black emptiness of space. I thought of how lonely i was going to be up there by myself. I imagine this fear is common. In the land where people often sacrifice relationships, friend or family, for the ability to rise above, for a chance to breath easy. Sometimes a little pressure will make the lungs stronger.

2011-01-05T02:35:00.000-06:00

insomnia is cliche in the media age
i held her hand and be praised
a real conversation exists in the smokey cracks
down in the dawns of deep valleys
where burning forges strength on heavy anvils of the earth
where i seek in night light serenity and cold thin windows and doors
they let out the heat of my dreaming
send me out to deserts oasises

2010-12-22T13:37:00.000-06:00

my mind is all my worth and i follow where it goes
the strangest places come and go just like my hopes
i'm the same fading being that you knew before
i felt a rope slip loose, it was holding us but torn

you may have happier friends that make you feel alright
and always find a way to hold someone at night
but i want those deeper meanings to shed light on life
just a lost brain in a people factory
satisfied for the longest time on little memories

2010-12-21T02:36:00.000-06:00

December has descended into the center of my existence. I once felt like I might understand people and things. I once worried no one would understand me, now I feel like I'm stuck on repeat. I bore the crowd with all too familiar things. jsl;ajdflskdjfowiejfsdknkgdsjhdfaskdlfjsdl;kfjas;difjk

i can't write because i haven't lived

jesus i am\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\a loser
go back to your iphone or previously recorded program
go back to your distractions

no i definitely don't understand people
well i understand some too well sometimes
and others not enough

life is a bore try to make it interesting

if nothing is handed to you
and you can try too hard for something
do we have to wait on chance

what if you just lose interest
nothing anyone can say will help it

too much emotion killed the cat

too many five hour energy and red bull
perception of time screwed up for everyone

too much grime on the street and we are all getting dirty
too many advertisements in magazines

all the dress patterns in the world won't save you from yourself
even horses wear shoes

a deep conversation comes along once and a while
listen to the other person
give real smiles

sit up and tell someone all the associations to them in your mind
make those neural connections stronger
you have to nurture love

sleep is the friend and enemy
makes one third of our lives so dull

forget/////////////everything i said
even though it wasn't much

2010-12-20T12:01:00.000-06:00

i know my words fall to deaf ears
like candlelight or background noise
we're poised to lose attention
i know my heart is strong enough to take you on
don't slide away in a moment we'll be gone
i've shown my cards only hoping no one keeps a score
and this slice of life is'nt so frosted anymore
these cold streets make me remember love
i gained trust and broke up so many times before
all my hopes were angry knots of energy
to get back at the feeling that no one can want me
i see connection their walking hip to hip
latched arms with an understanding kiss
we should know that life should be this way
and through the glass i look back into my face
i can't help resenting you today

all my feelings never really
grow on anything that i care for
i've already lost the way that you smell

i've got so many regrets that i should forget while
i'm so sad and busted this seems like the first real thing that i
can't fix with my hands or words and its so sickening
it's so unbearable to believe that she can just go on like anything
it doesn't matter whose soul she steals when she doesn't even know
how to use it
it gets better when you are going to die the deeper the grave the faster you live your life

2010-12-17T20:06:00.000-06:00

she must leave hearts of boys at doorsteps across the world
she must smile inside with tongue curled
while saturated suns rise in sore red eyes
plain flights seen sights all gone goodbye tomorrow
life will slow and melt away
as all those we cherish do, as we do ourselves
and the boys stop answering late calls
people distaste the fleeting nature of your withering claws
the future her will regret
like the me of now
and in time and space somehow we will feel the same
breathe heavy and sadly in the same ways
some gorilla will charm and love will get stale
as things do
as i do
sometimes

we are all carrier pigeons with no message
feel important anyway
feel like another might realize so we scare each other away
lets drink to companionship and taking away in the season of giving and thanks

what is wrong with me

2010-12-17T18:15:00.000-06:00

i can't argue I'm too nice, i debate and state points
not too quick to give advice, nice teeth warm eyes
i sing songs and play alright, I draw paint and try to write a good line
i'm damaged by experience but I don't dwell, i gather insight
i don't speak ill, or fill with ill will
i don't get drunk and blather or beat
i don't cheat
my mind is strange and unique
i kiss like softness and your name stays warm when i speak
my heart sips u like warm tea
and tastes only sweetness honey
in your eyes on the phone
it's not you anymore
was she there to begin with
was she anything at all
you
can
fade
away
into
the
background
like
music
on
rainy
days

and that's all i get
relief is breaking
this time
no fixing broken line
no changing spiteful eyes
hello night
we are alone together again

forging dreams

2010-11-23T11:47:00.000-06:00

I saw her before. It was in a dream I turned into a story. I saw gentle eyes and a persistent smile, warmth in my soul reflected from hers. I saw salvation not in a person but in connection. I knew that life would be a long struggle, and the biggest ones were to come, I even got part of the name right. I don't care whether it's coincidence or not. I dream sporadically and it's often lost in my spacey mind. A tangle of all I know, some I don't, and some I never will. Deja vu could happen to you it's true. Somewhere in reality those dreams form and it's no cause or fault of the brain, it is the possibility of existence. I've learned that being alone is sometimes comforting, regardless of my situation. There were times I sat in a little room or in a bunker picking my mind and found no answers to desperation, desolation and loneliness. What I did find was a drive. A drive to never be in those situations again if there were anything I could do about it. I would shed my skin and become what I know I must to live, and live a life not devoted to others but devoted to what is good and helpful. Happiness is a warm gun, as the steam rises off in the cold, I faced fears I didn't know I would ever have, and I lived. Most of my friends did and I am thankful to the winds for that. I only lost a few years, and faith in a relationship I foolishly went into very young. I am cautious, but now my heart is bigger. I don't know if I can love, I don't know if my mind will let me make those attachments, those bindings of potential loss. I still trust someone who takes time to know me. I don't know how much they gain from it, she gains from it, but I know I have that patience for her as well. It's not my dream that I rely on to find love, it's a sign to myself long before trauma and pain, that even though I feel alone there will be a time that I will comforted in the light of connection.

rasterized life forms

2010-11-05T23:24:00.000-05:00

broken city with broken lyric
lines of lines dwelling in decay
machiavelli's voice drown burning urban remains
so scathed the wrong and deathly gallows humor
so spread the fear and white lie to self parody
and cast lines sticky with unholy stink
to catch the lost and swimming cadavers
ground to shape from twisting violence
the nature, the destructive motions of the abyss
a bullet can miss, a lover can kiss,
but no one can save you
if you won't save yourself

Target aqcuired
element expired
one rolling day into the next, another hump up a mountain
another window shatter, boom boom kind of town
my city of endless sleep,
my distant rocky core,
my dried up to the center stream
slipping down wall boulder holding incoming cling
weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Protect and serve the hearts and minds
never leave a friend behind
never shoot to maim
protect investments
ingest anti-depressants
pretend it's worth it
should you die for something you don't fully know or understand
should you sign up to fight man
would i die happy or sad
what if this chance is the best chance the only chance for what I have, should I be buried with heavy bloody hands, that this protective nature demands, that which seems to be out of gods commands,
that which is the mirror of a universe in which change is king
survival of the meanest, the cleanest, well fed, protected head, ready to die, and scared to death to lose an inch
the army's on ambien so they say
mefloquine
zanex, zoloft lets go hey hey!
red bull standing guard for days!
Thanks to all my fighting, terrorism will just go away
broken city broken lyric
broke and I can't play

2010-10-28T03:05:00.000-05:00

I read the news today oh boy.
What must he have meant to do with all those words
what do you intend to do with all of yours
oh my o-mighty-o
oh my i i i
can't forget being forgotten lost and soft and
oh-my-y-y-y-iii-o
weight shifting earth split and
am/fm satellite radio
get lost spit cough turn off the stereo
the conservation will be televised
devastation of the system right before your eyes
born cold grown old and forgot the ride
well
oh my-i-iii
o-mighty-o

Things have been different lately. The cold gets to me. It's a miserable state to be cold in Chicago.
People are strange. SOmetimeS I think I am stranger. I don't like horse abuse, but I like having horses downtown this time of year.
Vapor is cool. Seeing heat rise off of people in the cold, the way street lights look swirling with puffs of snow, it's beautiful. Really, and snow angels, ice skating, christmas, THANKSGIVING@@@!!!, the cold breaks me down though.
the old breaks me down though
the old breas me dow tough
he ld   as me d ough
h as me dough
has me ogh
a me o
ameo

it's
like being
thirsty and
not being able
to find anything
to drink and you sweat
looking frantically desperate
for just a bit of moisture something
to wet your roasty throat gulping with the
last saliva that you have left tasting every
molecule in the air as they turn bitter and fleeting

5 minute prose

2010-09-28T11:34:00.000-05:00

i love and I don't
i know and i shouldn't
i fear the sameness in feeling
from kiss to kiss to lips and ears
i miss lazy days huddled beneath blankets
stretching and reaching into the other
into warmth watching forgetting to think
too contained to speak
will gets weak

and no stronger is the storm that beats down in my head
only distant thunders from past violences
volatile i berate
i lose faith
i step slow and confident that this ground won't shake
that I will wake before i die
like a diamond in the sky

out of the ashes

2010-09-01T03:02:00.000-05:00

death it is a burnin' thing
and it makes an empty ring
i fought hard but it fought harder
now it squirms through me
oh my mighty god oh my mighty god
in my eyes are my eyes dotted in line or should I change
rearrange my mind
does it matter...
it's my soul darling, soul sweet soul, darling
step
   down
      from
the shallow ground
from
     the
leaps and bounds
all
   the
little
sights and sounds
that twist
around
in
our
minds
O
holy ghost
racecar
   smash
no toast
no jam
except in traffic
slam

can be fat on ham
britches
pulled
tight
squeezing
     insides
    out
pass the lamb

pass
the
hand
last man stands
with grief and waves of grain
sometimes it's good to look at the things we say
stay fresh new products oh they can shine
make playgrounds for idle minds
watch so much
just might go blind
sat so much I am all behind
implied gratifiti gradually naturally
dark shades on bitter face
grown old and browned out
born again but beat down
street clown miming insignificance
handing out air animals that float
strain light like carnival glass
pass the crayon

Oh lord I've got healing to do
the same function, reduction, discretion

expression at the microphone session
side steps of tension

exhausted envy, the invasion of illusion

2010-08-04T19:20:00.000-05:00

i cracked the glass and only saw things in two parts
first, last
no in between
i fast forward and the inevitable cast grown old, blind
as the stumble for the only exit is inevitable

shine on til you fall down forever
maybe that light will blaze someone else's arrows
so some other lonely soul has a better chance of finding their way in the dark
speak well of the start
for the initial feelings are often the strongest,
and the longest lasting dreams for us while living

Wilt Act II part II

2010-08-02T20:29:00.000-05:00

Wilt

Act II

Scene 3

Black

A dark blur like ocean waves grows on the black screen. Data moshed waves with a strange motion.
Ellen and Ramon on the beach, he is always in night and she is always in day, lying there on the beach.
break to Ellen being grabbed by the dark figure, she turns quickly and rushes at him, preparing to use all of her energy fighting this figure, and as she rushes he turns to ash. She falls against the wall and holds her arms up ready to fight, or cry, or die, or all three.
She runs through a hall and finds an elevator. she looks back and sees a glimmer of sparking red. she jumps in the elevator and pushes buttons frantically. It closes and she pushes the emergency stop button. she sobs in the bright lit box. the lights flicker.
That flicker transitions to the eye of the old man at the door. He is holding a small pitchfork caked with blood.
The fire axe is heavy but Jacob prepares it to swing at the man. The man smiles and continues forward slowly. A couple walks by outside and Sarah starts to scream to them for help.
The man and woman stop to look through the windows.
The old man grimaces.
flash, black, flash, black

Ellen is in the elevator. She is leaning against the wall. She pushes the button and smacks the wall. The elevator moves, flashes of the dark figure there with her appear. as she closes her eyes and sobs. The doors open to a balcony in a huge theater. She sees an exit door in the distance and runs for it, she skips past the dark seats with people flashing in and out of them. static noise rises. She sees the light and in a triumphant push forward(slow motion) runs into the dark man as he appears suddenly and grabs her. Static and distortion fade the screen out.

couple looking in doors

man- Did you hear that?
woman- sounded like someone screaming.

Music rises suddenly from the theater. A woman singing. An opera piece.
Jacob swings the axe as the old man advances with pitchfork at chest level. The axe knocks the pitchfork out of his hands, but Jacob hits the wall and drops the axe. The man comes forward swinging the broken handle and Jacob kicks him in the stomach and the man staggers back, they look up and the couple is gone he and Sarah run toward the music.

whyku

2010-08-02T18:42:00.000-05:00

you will never be loved in your castle
and I will never be loved in my bunker
the weather vain will thrash
but no lasting romance
the walls of loss are too strong
built up in the night
because too many lonely violent souls collided
taking what they could, and burning what they could not carry away
fear lamplight and warning sirens
weep to synaptic responses
shut down the memory banks
and sharpen the blades

Wilt Act II

2010-07-30T02:30:00.000-05:00

Wilt

Act II   The hurt of every day dreams...

Scene I
Interior_Royal George Theater
Characters
Ellen
Ramon
Old man
police officer

low shot of them shuffling through hallways and storage areas to a ticket counter with a telephone. Ramon uses it to call the police and the three sit in a security camera view, possibly through a round mirror. The old man is standing back rocking on his feet while rubbing his hands. Ellen is trying not to look up at him but does slowly. He smiles at her, she immediately feels uncomfortable,

Ellen-     "Thank you for helping us, I thought we were going to die! It was awful."

Man-      "It's no trouble miss, I'm glad he didn't get you"

He says this and grins terribly. She smiles with hesitance and looks to Ramon as he hangs up the phone.

Ramon- "They are sending a patrolman to get a description, can you take us to the front to meet them?"

Man-    "Sure can."

The man leads them to the door, where they sit and wait for the officer to come. Low far shot of them sitting, the shadows being cast on the back walls add visual stimulation. Ellen looks at Ramon's cut leg, and dresses the would with a piece of beach towel. The blood is crusted on to Ramon's leg, he is in mild pain, they are both experiencing slight shock, dilated pupils, adrenaline still affecting them.

External ground level shot of the back door. Shadows move close and two feet walk by, followed by a length of rope and two people tied up being drug behind along the ground, toward the door.

The man is in a back room with water running, he is bent over a sink, and he starts to shake, his arm jerking back, and spitting up foam in the sink.
cue intense music.

Police car pulls up in front of building. The lights shine past, lighting up the couple's eyes. They get up and meet the officer at the door.

Shot of a creaked open door in a dark room with a closeup of an object dripping, with the creaked door and a flashlight jerkily shining into the room. The dripping makes a noise but is only a precursor to build-up of mechanical heartbeat sound. Door bursts and light fills screen.

high shot of couple talking to police in doorway. Officer writing down and Ramon with his arm around Ellen. Then to shot of taillight moving forward/Ellen and Ramon returning to the theater.

Ellen-    I have to use the bathroom

Ramon-   where did that man go?

They walk back from the doors toward a restroom sign.

Shot of eye in burlap sack, covering head. The opening eye of one of the bodies drug into the theater earlier. Shot of a body shaking around in the dark, next to another body.

Back to Ellen and Ramon near the bathrooms.

Ramon-   You use the bathroom and I will go call us a cab

Ellen-    don't leave me here alone this place is creepy

Ramon- it will take two seconds, don't worry you are safe

Ellen walks quickly to the restroom while Ramon goes to the telephone.

Burlap sack slides across floor pushing the rope out. Struggling until she frees her hand finally, and reaching for the sack and ripping it off, taking deep breaths after removing the gag from her mouth. She is hysterical as she frees her other hand and lunges for the other body.

Scene 2

Interior Royal George
Time-very early morning
Characters:
Ellen
Ramon
Rat trap man
Dark Figure Man
Sarah
Jacob

Photo booth pictures of the Dark figure flip past the screen creating a warping, moving face.
Immediate transition to bathroom floor. black drips creep down from the ceiling slowly. The door opens and it shrinks back as Ellen enters.
Ramon walks back to find the telephone and hears something from a distance. He walks out into an open area

Ramon-    Hello?

He walks forward, and looks down. He sees two thin wet trails on the ground, and hears a girls voice from the room they come out from. He walks toward the room slowly. Close up shot of feet walking. He puts his hand on the handle. He twists slowly, he begins to push, and it slams open, and a man screams as he jumps out with a fire ax and drives it into Ramon's skull. Ramon falls backwards, Jacob pukes on top of the body.
Chimes ring, and long creaking sounds rise. Ellen hears a noise and walks quickly from the bathroom, evading the unseen black drips.

Ellen-     "Ramon"

She walks to where she had thought the phone was, in the darkness she sees a figure, as she gets closer her heart drops, Ramon has been killed with an axe. She runs to him and looks away from the disfigured head, she sobs

The old man appears half in the light, with blazing red eyes. Ellen screams as she sees him and turns to run. He is too fast and touches her arm, as he makes contact, that half of her body starts to rip away, the screen is blurring with static and corrupt data.

The dark figure walks the theater. with blazing eyes.

Sarah and Jacob are working their way to the door, Jacob is carrying the axe, Sarah is hiding behind a candle holder. They hear a scream from behind them, while their heads are turned a man walks between them and the doors in the distance, it immediately starts walking forward.

Wilt Act 1

2010-07-27T22:53:00.000-05:00

Black
Dust and light shine on cement walls. flashes of projector showing old film of woman dancing(16mm-videotape). Close ups of woman's face, warp with black swirl, like rot and wet ink. When the woman turns in the projection, dust in the room swirls. Flash, she is bowing, flowers are being thrown to her. Flash, shaky camera and dead womans face, corrodes and flies cover projection. Zoom out from black insects to reveal them as a huge pattern covering the white of an eye.
"Wilt" fades in and out shades of gray.

Scene 1
Exterior- beach
Time- sunset
Characters:
Ellen - Female Early 20's
Roman- Male Early 20's

Couple plays tic tac toe in the sand. Sky is underexposed and dark, people overexposed. Between long pauses of silence and projector noise coming in slowly to build mood. A close up of each reveals the following dialogue:

Ellen " well would you believe he is wearing that out here" (points finger in distance)

wide shot showing Roman look away, cut shot to Ellen writing in another X and looking up quickly

Roman (looking at Ellen) "what are you talking about"

Ellen " I don't know, he looked like an Amish guy on a Segway"

Roman " He must feel like Marty Mcfly"

Move to couple laughing together after Ellen puts a line through her diagonal X's. film stretches and melts into new footage, in night vision mode, fire lighting the couple laying together, sped up footage of background of day, night, sun and moon passing overhead, coupled with stop motion foreground of the barely moving couple. Taped over 3 days at least.

Scene 2

Exterior-Beach
Time-still dark early morning
Characters:
Ellen
Ramon
Dark Figure

Out of the night comes a dark figure with a pale mouth and grimy clothes. Waves splash behind him in the darkness. Key low instrumentals that sound faintly of projectors and humming appliances, factory machinery, only bring to a dull hum, as the dark man approaches the sleeping couple. His knife glimmers, speckled with rust or residue. He creeps in the sand, waiting for the fall of the waves to mask his sound. He gets close to the couple, close enough to strike, he smiles

straight to black

backward playing footage of snake skin pattern looping/painted numbers and symbols/ faces from magazine illustrations morphing into real people/scary head

straight to black

camera pulls back from Ellen's mouth as she wakes up and sees the dark figure above them.

straight to white

drop camera down from beaming over saturated sun, shoot entirely in first person small child's point of view, looking at his father, intersperse with dark woods at night, as the child looks at the father the father sticks his tongue out, where every 15 seconds or so the flashes of dark forest are intense and show a dark scarecrow figure advancing.

Zoom out from Ramon's eye and keep camera steadily in front of his face as he goes through motions of fighting and disarming the creature as he had woken up scared out of his mind. Ramon kicks the man and notices his leg is cut, he grabs Ellen and they run away.

Out on the street Ramon tries his phone as it flickers on and off. He looks around and sees the trail end of something go in a door,

Ramon - "Hey! can you help us out, we need the police!"

Ramon starts to run down an alley way, Ellen hesitantly grabs his arms and then follows after he gives her an irritated glance. Ramon leads her down the alleyway. As they get to the end they see a tall man in coveralls. He is hunched as he walks and tall, a close-up shows his hand sliding something dark and matted into his pocket, he turns as he is being waved down by the couple, Ellen loses steps and slows as they approach,

Ramon - Sir may we use your phone to call the police

Man- oh well uh what for

Ramon- my girlfriend and I were just attacked by a man with a knife, please we must call them now!

Man- oh well ok

The man raises his rubber gloved hand to the door, and as they go in, the man trails, pulling off his gloves and laying down a bloody rat trap in the alleyway.

I asked them if we were growing cold and stale

2010-07-26T21:22:00.000-05:00

No one stares down the barrel of death's gun quite like you. No sir.
Remember when we thought we might have died already. The night in the black van with tinted windows and stolen plates, as we sat and waited to rob Fat Teddy's crew in Barcelona? The driver worked for them and almost executed us right there, but u remembered him at the last minute. You remembered him from the shoot out in Monte Carlo. I still eat at that outdoor bistro. I have images of shattered glass and spilled wine that glide past my mind when I am sitting there waiting, enjoying the cool breeze. Hope you rest in peace.

lame duck

2010-07-23T17:46:00.000-05:00

I'm tired of glazing over old ideas. I don't know where to start, or where it ends. I'm sad like someone who has lost something very dear to the heart and irreplaceable, and I don't know why. I have held few things dearly. I think I may hold my self or my life dearly, but not covet. Never forever is over for me.

the repression that results in obsession

gold coin lay flat shadow slide slowly
money sign sign your check endorse here say
open sesame work work slave shallow
split coal load shovel to insanity

I see the glimmer of the green light on the pictures I make, and take from life's strange destinations and situations. I inhale and sometimes forget that I have to breathe, but I always know I can bleed. Maybe I shouldn't live like this, I think, in squalor and sorrow. maybe I'm making up for what I lost before, lost or gave away. Sometimes I wish god was rooting for me, sometimes maybe he is or was. Maybe he exists but it's hard to differentiate between a pure thought and bullshit. I think my coping medicine is to run. Not from a fight in the parks or roads and fields of screams, but in the mind.
I fall in love around 3 times a day, love at first sight. Imagination quickly creates anticipation as i wait.
old it steady
don't get ready
pace set to cause pain and panting
heavy moans come from lit up homes
and in the darkness people are still happy, content, falling apart trying to be
or just not worrying
I think therefore I am depressed
I think therefore I am alone
I think therefore I amend my morals all the time
I want to be a fighting shadow a little black figure in the blind mans sight
I want it to be tomorrow, it seems today never comes out right

2010-07-21T18:06:00.000-05:00

oh my my feeling
sensations soul
provoking through unseen depravity play the part
be one, many one any one but me
ok ok now settle down its all fine when we can see a little , a critical separation from my seam seems to be that
nothing can satisfy statistically
open hand open soul foul mouthed and willing to scroll to droll along
sinister mister long
for better or worseeeeee
not feeling so hot
gray light blue
and dull, the quickest sickness to take it's fiery toll, fuck you, i won u
i oen little or nothing, liggle or nothing , little or shallow style simplistic thought provoke distant such sought shot alone disgraced my oh how i am feeling alone
oh how i break the ozone, oh how I cry this is so alone, so outgrown, so sunstroked and windblown
a goldfish slips into your water filthy slaves, fuck you we own you

last night

2010-07-17T09:35:00.000-05:00

i don't think twice when I fall for all those tricky little scams
blond, brown, black and blues as I shuffle to the noose I won't ever be free
from the bottom of the bottle to the sick shift cold coma satisfaction find me
no fees no interest inside of me a cold still grin and eyes that just won't fade
beyond the little spaces the places in between, lost and found traveling build bridge gotta get away

a recipe for dying alone

2010-07-10T12:56:00.000-05:00

mix one part human
one part jesus
one part rock and roll music
one part scratch and scrape
one part limited vision
one part pushing away from the shore

knead until hard as rock

bake at 98.5 degrees until golden black

wake up feeling lost

wake up without anything

no friends, and even fewer lovers

drink something strong

drink alone

sleep with fingers crossed

sleep fully clothed in hot summer air

unconditioned, disparity

linger hope longer, i misunderstand everyone
i feel like I am not what anyone wants
I feel like my stab into history is too dark

brutally we are in control
uselessly jaw drop kiss sweet sun

too often behind

2010-07-08T18:32:00.000-05:00

when in the gears
i love her dearly
first sight best sight
lost sight grabbed but didn't hold on
then he came along
i was still there hidden
kiss you on the merry-go-round
reminds me of the time as well, as did the earthy smell
the carnival, and we drank and we had drank before
and everything felt the same, same lovesickstruck anxiety calm comfort

same slithery blithery bullshit between feelings, deep and nostalgic
too nostalgic in fact, i get time travel sick,
relish and regret
smooth exhausted hands, and eyes, oh they have been dazed for days by the backlit nightline screen

how do you describe a smile
a glance and away
how do you tell the sensation that i bring and you bring fizzling with chemical relief
the shiver spine that my song brings

on the confusion of conformity

2010-07-02T02:24:00.000-05:00

liquor, music, saturated discrepancies lying dying pitiful serenity in simplicity madness and impossibilities roam, faded trains change line gone with the windows and snow bank blind
she lifted me up and damaged me inside, my kite will one day fly I'll say
traced in fine ink on fine paper crouched in corners bad behavior
going through the motions like a drunken fighter
like a trained systematic violent instigator, the traitor to the heart and the mind
the plus minus plus minus pin chest, pin head state of mind
though you succeed and man can not be defined by the line of work to determine his worth
we have spilt forth on violent earth with no verse to be checked or manual to rely on
faith is a fateful notion, while I live susceptible to the actions of the people
while i live grounded, down, earthen disguise demise deep fried enjoyment
blitz, bombardment, building up and ripping down
fall, ceiling. And as the dust settles I see the shade of war, it is ash...

soft light air sofa dream

2010-06-29T20:10:00.000-05:00

oh straight streets and sidewalks flat an even for a soul
beach walk sift through thoughts mumble and lull with the tide
imbibe, breath heat solid cornered-in-sight
shake from the rot, sift through the whole
choke and slobber time grows slow
whiz past vroom engine roars with cherry paint jobs
elite light the heights of lake crest bore
white triangles like puppets in a creature show
what needs cost and the seeds bleed forevermore
an old soul, always knows the score
gemin-eyes split-shift-drift, ignore
sip sip, pull from the bellies, pull from the sheep
just what you need
a long day drifts awkwardly through the gleaming nothing of space
tiny islands in the air drift like me and hold on to existence helplessly
never knowing what the end is
or why it is changing

chewed to the quick

2010-06-29T18:26:00.000-05:00

shuffle and scuff platforms in hide rubber shoes
awkward and anxious headphone cell phone crying calling texting watching
the businesspeople the shoppers the spenders the beggars the spendthrifts the sellers
caught in the cellar, bizarre and lost hopes
they can never know themselves because they are never alone
mirror tricks and decide choose instantly please me please be
but can't find success if all I look for is love
sick puppy, disgust, it's normal to dye with the rust
it's normal to cry when things seem so unjust
it's easy to lean over rails when you know you won't jump
because someone with less than you inside, but more in the world
is living the life you think you should, could if you would
just button up, settle down, don't regret, don't look so closely at each gem you have found

our bellies are getting rounder, fat from the crude, from the food, and the blood
you can't mix beauty with grime, but soon it all turns to worn leftovers of another time
the gods have all known people, but how many of us know the gods
lightning strikes us down, as do so many forces

i am wrong or I am right

2010-06-17T19:54:00.000-05:00

sometimes it starts like a grease fire/ little pools of pain/ sliding down and eating
other times it's creeping fear of disbelief/ the festering feeling of sober anxiety
old hums and strums coincide with tragedy and comedy
//the only fool a man can claim is himself//
under the glow of the high-definition fire /time movin' slow (I)
don't know when it'll expire...mixing
thin tinges of not uncommon desire
into the waste = into the gyere
through the genes/drank up in rivers and streams
toleration rips at seams/all because of these abstract beings
system is not complete without travesty

The Presidential Address Tonight! Sold Out! classic

2010-06-15T19:21:00.000-05:00

Now that the days are long// what is the best way to destroy the world
Now that the shades are drawn everyone must start playing god//who deserves to know why
action in regulation industry oversight
shower gifts safety inspections
salazar corruption deep
slaughter the patrons
new people top shelf
watch dog not his partner
the better regulations consume less
drilling miles and smiles land and shallow water
urgency requires lobby
candid reserve consequences job
up our well, oh well, lets gulf or golf i mean
painful embrace, energy generation
unleash control//destiny transition
jump start clean speak old wind
smaller efficient family soul
entirement industreaps
only rally one
principal independence comprehensive refinement
cost some//afford right now
addiction approaches either
standards sure power
fractions research boosting
inaction
idea
challenge
difficult
planes and tanks
harness sci tech
refuse wisdom
definition of destiny determination we want our world children
neighbors fate
beginning tradition long ago
bless safety sea success
in good bad weeks seasons
spill pray former promise lost
with thy
last crisis, hard times before

mindless infinities

2010-06-10T02:05:00.000-05:00

neglect what you want, give what you will
granted and enchanted isn't happening still
old telephone answer hung up
guilt and a quill tip now i shut up
oh me, I can not see
that mindless infinity beyond me

you would like it better in a song I suppose. A movement a rhyme, with lovely little harpsicordian sounds that drift bye bye happiness

you're california and I am northern maine, and still
water bends, around, around through the frame, I'm solid but feather down is much warmer than my heart
oh god let me down

the shadows are all conspirators
gangsters with bullets of lead
I've lost all leftover self conscious and I just can't stay aware
fool, you , oh you fool
enough picking battles -you're my frankenstein
enough galloping hills climbing from shelf to shelf, on me
I cannot breathe
my whole life span
depends on theeeee
shallow graves, which cast about,
you lost another, now time runs out
god damned alone, bewildered
shot through the soul=
and all the waking blood inside you dies,
a satisfaction smile grows
tears to stay alive
one nice shot in. to. infinity.

got base on the main defense
as so many wander and lie
sell the ticket after the ride
gone goes done say goodbye
I'm not asking for a
way to strange it, self defiance staking claim at
ooo wee oooo wee
ooooh wii ooooh weee
almost one two three satisfy curiosity
dishonesty wrongin' me too mad to get by
inspect the check made to magnify
bass boom beat tap tap the rolling flow
the match effect forcing me to let go and get on with the show
satisfy me, as well as I could be don't let me down
I'm too proud to tap out, slip sliding up the downspout

we are transient,
how can we own the earth
commonly mistaken
commonly forgotten
ignored truth of reality

step one: keep the public useless
ascertain needs and issues
gain control of authoritative figures
split fingers make useless splinters in the face of a dying race
sun spots sun burns toil toil toil away we say
old chants singing feeling right
not knowing initiation fucking fight or flight
godspeed you fucking soldier
spent ammo mud hut concrete bunker
steel plate extra wait while we hum
ooooo my cold dead soul
my gunshot wound
my final payment coming true
oooweee oooweee
the shrinking brain fell on me
the holy ghost incredibly
I heard sunshine
and soul was lifted
hollow bones been re gifted

step 2: procreate
My you are lovely. Lets perform the mating ritual, although we do not want children. Sounds fun.
First we must let things ferment. First we must ferment. First amendment. first amen. Firmament. Firmant. man(squared).

step III:
self destruct
I've got a ticket to ride, and I don't care. Life as temporary, life as temperamental, life as an intermediary between butt and hair. Supposing eye, su-su-supposin' I would do what I most like. Do what wraps up with black bow and ashes and dust. Supposin' I follow the sun til it sits on my weary shores, invigorating this lonesome soul, as you, I am, as we, I are gold light far from sight far from any little broken sacred place where we hide, and discover, shiny ugly minds. Like mines. Like mine. I me. Emitting frequency, through silly slathered speech and under some, some distant feeling knowing growing building up, into nothing, into wilting little roses in an abandoned overcrowded cemetery, this plot of land, in which I'd been thrown, this plot of dirt, these buried stones. All I have to do is think a little thing of you and time goes dry, and I close my eyes, because this is forever. Yeah this is forever.

we are all monsters

2010-06-09T01:48:00.000-05:00

nipping at the breath expelled as if life were real for a moment, but by the time I notice our moment is passed.

The only stranger I know is myself.

old worn - wind down

tick-by-weary-tick

we-us-are impatient, impotent straggle through live loops

long-time hustle

struggle to shoot in the morning hours, while grabbing paper, coffee, smoke

engulfed in enough

and inside the head

what happened to the man's man the gentleman and what happened to the rotten stink of within

what happened to the animals, light beam, tree sap thought shadows slipped bark fell green wood

what happened to the life stem steel grate fence in

the pave way progress sensation

what happened to day dream not shaking

not control unfinished simmer of the forgotten mourning soul

drool

from the lip

from the food service fool

from the shoe vendor and the summer stool

from cramp limb don't want to wake up morning blues

from cascade black

from effortless endeavors burning proof

drip from the eye

here little twins looking so satisfied

here is to heroicism

it may

be our only

answer

Here is to persistence, which no one understands

oh my goodness sweaty distance

here is to

our enemies saving graces

phrase that another way

Motion Sensitive part 1

2010-05-17T20:47:00.000-05:00

The refrigerator's out. It's not running. So any wise-ass who want's to call me should just do it now.   The mist rising from the rotten fruit is driving me crazy, but I can't touch it. It's black and hangs in the air. I can feel it inside my lungs, eating me like it ate the fruit. I can't move, I can't even close my eyes, and they are starting to come around my face. I can feel the few loner particles, the beasts, on the soft curve of my eye. The jump in and out of my vision. They are biting at my fingernails, in the cracks. They look for any open pore with which they could benefit from my inability to react. They are digging cleaning and chewing on my scalp, and I can still smell the rot of the meat on them, as they bounce around overfeeding themselves, gulping down my sweat and slobber
My brother Tom is lying on the floor, and I've never seen him so still. I think he had a heart attack. The black specks are peppering the foam circle around his mouth. His body has grown a pale blue, the black pollution makes it seem gray in the mid-day haze. I haven't eaten, I don't want to. They might get totally inside.   I think they want to my brain. I think something in them knows that that is all I have. That's all I ever had.
I could feel the flowing caress of the carrion, the stench stewed with mold spore and disease. Tom shouldn't have done what he did. He shouldn't have had that man come. Just 'cause I can talk through a box. Tom only took me for the caregiver money. I didn't mind, it's better to be with him than in the home. We were drinking and tired when I started rambling on about holistic medicine. Somehow in the night Tom got the idea to go find some kind of spiritual healer.
Tom grew tired and irritated when dealing with my daily needs. I don't know where he met the man in the gray suit. He came in drunk, had said he found a shaman. I looked at the man, he looked at me with a rich fake smile. I thought it may have just been a pleasantry to mask his initial pity for me and my disability. The carcass and the talking box, like a magic show, and the lead role is given to this graying slick dude who knows a bit about voodoo. Or some dark art, pulled out rustled rusted sheets of paper. Incantations and sacred elements. Strong magnets and transistors in a case he carried by his side. The case was deep, dark, red and black leather with gold straps.
He talked to me carefully and slowly, "Hello David, I'm Dr. Solomon and I'm going to try to help you today, your brother told me that you would like to walk again, is it ok with you if I go ahead and try to repair your still body?". He was sweaty and
"Yes, but how does it work?" My carefully preened digital voice echoed out through computer speakers.
"Well David it's complicated and the best way for me to do it is just to show you."
He said this while dropping his case and opening it in the middle of the floor. There were electronics exposed and smooth steel parts that pointed to the center like cranes drinking from a pool. Red and black stitching were exposed, creating a border of twisted red and black ivy for the papers which he placed over smooth foreign symbols resembling the alphabet.
"Tom, please close the windows and unplug any televisions or radios you have in the home." Thomas was pale and drunk, he unplugged the nearest television and walked out of the room.
"David, this is going to work. You can trust me and relax, you may feel some discomfort, but it's going to be worth it."
"Hope is loss Dr."
"Bah, your attitude shall soon change my friend." He looked at me and at the cable as he plugged the machine into the wall.
   The machine started humming at a low speed, the crane heads spinning smoothly in the center. Tiny tubes slid a light green liquid between gears and into quiet machined metal. Circuit boards were twisted and melded with wires, going to a tiny display screen the man quickly began to inspect. Thomas came in with a sandwich and a glass of milk, he sat on the couch staring at the machine, and sitting down his milk.
I felt strange, and had nothing to say. I sat, eyes blinking on regular timing, wondering more than wishing. The man looked at me as if to ask if I were ready. I said nothing.
He pulled a thin black microphone up from the base of the case and adjusted it in front of his mouth. Looked to my brother and me, then down to the paper with a sharp grin.
" Kgheim slas jeseuan.."
The machine whirred faster and light started coming out of the smooth reflective base.
"aa arudisav a iiii-ooo satasmana oh ao..."
Another reflective disk grew out of the air above the blurred crane heads, and a spark threw out from the circuit board.
I felt the air grow thick, like I was choking on pasty gas. Time slowed down and I only saw flashes. I couldn't hear anything besides the whirring and crackling of the machine. I saw Thomas slipping forward on the couch, spilling his milk slowly, between fan blades of time. It was like looking through slivered glass, but everything inside was fighting with the solidity of being. It closed us all in, encapsulated us in hardening matter, the machine still worked. A light hit and my mind went blank. I was in the middle of a twisted dream, but I only held on to a few strings of story before I woke up.
The food was already stinking, not as bad as now. Tom's not saying a word, no matter how much I calmly state that we need help, because I CAN"T FUCKING YELL IT through god damned Micro Sam's speech fucking generator.
I hope the gnats choke on my flesh. I can feel them burrowing, burrying eggs inside of my skull. In my ears tickling, and digging into my clothes. Black covers my eyes and only flicks of distant light appear in my vision. I let go of the tension. I bury myself in the darkness, i detach myself from all the exterior feelings. The insects writhe throughout my being, I hear their buzzing and slurping, I imagine their little mouths and shiny eyes, cleaning their wings and faces after gorging on a gooey chunk of eye tissue.
Oh, the dream.

Infinitely Guilty In The Eyes Of The Universe

2010-05-04T02:36:00.000-05:00

weakened senses of the shadow masses
time slowing down in time to watch
all scared moments like rocks and hearts
like splash sticky red stuff
<= puff smoke whistle blow%%%
ants march...
tomorrow starts with secret dust
cloud scream light show
shading lines through blind window
rising slightly to find comfort
lose evil
sweat stained and sunburnt
sun washed fade way
kind regardless
regarded in someway
the puppet people pull
past you in little turns
wrists like bamboo and crooked spine
fake to the world

vision of the masses

2010-04-30T15:09:00.000-05:00

I see our world and the people of our country strung out on the drug of commerce, commute, control, and fame, worse than cocaine, just as destructive on our brains. I see scattered masses, ignorance in classes, but who is to blame, the sheep or the shepherds, businesses or buyers. Fill the graves and tombs of tomorrow, beg steal and borrow your way to the top to a place where you can cast all your trace under a rug. I see the army of truth, the fighters of free, the dogs of war done wrong, done up, fighting with sickness shell shock fears of the dark, they rise, and they fall, angry tides like packs of wolves burning in the dawn. The rest of us stink and squalor in our funerary dreams, because before they come you are dead, but the people who were born into anything would like you to believe they are tangible things. They've commandeered our resources, hijacked our gov't and are growing bored as they charge force into foreign land. The poor stand like puppets, shot at inaccurately by other poor and weak. I'm sick as fuck and it's so hard to speak, it's so hard to reach, so hard not to let my soul rot another day in the businessman's paradise, corporate diatribe, fabulous and famous carnival ride, where we all drink and get high on life cuz it works out even though it's not always nice, mostly not nice, hardly ever nice.......... you are too fucking strong to cry, too attached to inks and dyes, to wounded souls that hide behind melodramatic eyes, strong runners thighs, but it's a fucking meat shop of lies, we are the lord of the fucking flies, one where the weak all die, piggy survives, markets his eyes, and buys everyone's home and calls it his own........fuck

displeasure

2010-04-30T13:20:00.000-05:00

command line prompt
command line pro
command line
command in
command
comm
co
cool like fall and spring hanging out brown grass dream
cooperative junction into absence and history hindering belief
constant reminders of every little thing
coordination while flushing
commenting on disbelief
complicating grief
communion
union
un
ion
i
on
no place for old men, young men
navigating through shadows
negating ferocity with battles
nightly standing watch when you can not see
no one knows but those stained by living belief
numbers, tags, calculating
nymphs ride in broken minds meflaquin edging suicide

i don't even know if i want to be happy anymore, can't connect can't reflect

fall apart never together never right

never ever, never clever, newer and never so close

i see clothes

chilling and killing curve

silly I'm feeling worse

must be man's curse

give me solvent to clean

clp

spread

disease disease disease disease di5ease disease disease disease disease disease disea5e disease disease dissease disease disease disease disseace dissease disease disease disease di5ea5e disease disease disease disease di$ease disease disease disease disea$e disease diseas disease disease di$ea$e $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ SS SS SS SS SS c c c cc cc c cc cc cc ccccc cccc cc c c cc c c cc cccc cc cc ccc c cc

and Jesus drowned the puppies to save them from life

2010-03-30T01:55:00.000-05:00

Oh I thought that was you
but I couldn't see past the rain drizzled shield
wind pushed out in ripples stretching
straining out lines making thin rivers that caught the light just right// you were just a lamp post ghost pacing the streets with bleeding warped face//
and I thought that was me
chasing fear around but it's never
as clear as hearing the sound/ see;
the slam of the ground which whistles precede
I'm lucky I'm writing and not just dictating still have limbs and jars of pennies, I can spread things, grip the world with hands and stand up against ground turning
still have a voice box to sing building apathy empathy, becoming...
I can design something from nothing, I can change matter by breathing and eating, I can cause vicious waves of alteration from my actions with no tricks up my sleeves, and then I can't do anything, i can't change the fact that we're losing time to think, and in between lost sleep the longer the blinks/ see; caffine drinks, cigarettes I'm slow to think, sad to write
mental y-axis negative, perpetually fueling the analytics that founded this system of crude self-distance, association, complications of the mind, hurry doctor get the paddles, it's all just wasting time, wasting hope, wasting reason to get out if you can, but you won't get out alive/ see; funerary march, dust, second line, second life, trust, will, definite

The Desolate Generation

2010-03-11T03:23:00.000-06:00

Influence of the Beat Generation:
The Desolate Generation

farewell foolish objectivism

2010-02-23T06:13:00.000-06:00

it's a sad state when man is raized to hate, discriminate, and eliminate all things strange, thinking they hold no solid place.
I can never be a hero
foolish things often run deep for me,
my lost thoughts as barren and systematic as winter trees
all subconscious comes forward through lack of dreams
cigarettes and antacids at six a.m.
water and eggs drowning down and coagulating
i feel bad and good all the same
transcending perception, making myself outsane
out in the streets howling to the early morning air
to the sleeping, sleepless, drunk, and meandering
breaking up the spaces between all of us stuck
in this blistering burning reality, with cars and tv screens
with debt and monetary dreams, lotteries to keep em clean
to keep them from destroying themselves
spiraling down the rabbit holes reading gravestones as no escape
only hope lies in the book that says the meek shall be saved
the high, the hearty, the full, and greed will try and repent for deeds
what a load of shit shoveled for the poor to believe
everything is amazing and no one is happy

war they said

2010-02-11T00:58:00.000-06:00

I used to think of war in the hollywood sense without any sense. I used to see these heroic actions, which no doubt in many cases involved the bravery and willpower of the human spirit, and these actions are admirable from the nature of man, but being that, the nature of man, we aknowledge that we all stem from the same thing, and that thing, exists still beyond our scientific unified comprehension. Man is a warring creature who takes from the violent nature of the very substances which he is created from. The twisted earth bulging hot inside from the still fresh universe, lit up by the burning light of the sun. Earthquakes and Hydrogen Dioxide, wind, volcanoes, we live in a violent, turbulent time in the universe.
__I used to not think about things. I've been watching footage from WWII. The atom bomb and damages done by the US. The hand of god dropped down and burnt you up inside and out if you were even close enough to see it. I think that never in history have so many people been killed at one time. Should we have bombed North Korea in the Korean War, or now? Should we bomb Iran? Is this the problem that constantly faces the American person? What significance do the moral implications reflect on us as a religious, capitalist, warring system? Capitalism ensures a fair society, but a hollow society as well. I don't blame capitalism, I blame greed and the way that power and money make you hollow, what good is there in life when you are on a pedestal and don't have to struggle through the twisted world in which we are forced to exist on? What choice have I to be spurt forth on a warring planet and laying my hands in what guilt and Hollywood manufactured in my youth and what those warring people bought me to do.
I think few of us really have to struggle with the moral implications of mass destruction, but we buy people to do that. Grown old men, lawyers and families of former politicians, we buy them to make our decisions. I was bought young to battle in strange lands and would never again offer my soul. Not with the mysteries of the universe still at large, not with that distrust and distaste still bitter and hot in my throat.
Do we live in fear of the next atom bomb? I'm sure there are still wounds buried deep in foreign soil. Here we are sweeping up history's ever growing mess. Albert Einstein helped find the power of god, now we live in fear. What weapons will the discoverer of the unified theory create? Will we crash the moon down on the earth in a final assault, is total destruction the only solution? The mind makes the world the world makes the mind.

Taught and Twisted Creatures

2010-02-02T23:29:00.000-06:00

Little memories of a smaller me flash like old film. I've always wanted to learn regardless of where I was or what I was doing. I have big eyes and a big heart and I wanted to know the world from every angle. Now glowing ghosts in dry eyes are manifestations of a complex sadness. Everything rubs off on you. Your DNA learns from everything around you even if you don't notice it. I think we are always changing and cells always rebuilding, maybe we have gotten out of the grips of nature, either that or nature thrives on chaos, given the chaotic nature of the human.
We are not always analytical, and neither are we focusing all energy on survival. What makes us love? Stress and struggle. Struggle to survive and be, persistence, growth, and care. No one needs anyone anymore. So instead we use sex as therapy.
So we outgrew our bodies and our minds had nowhere to grow. Now the thick weed of the mind is crying out to the body through migranes, obecity, insomnia, and depression. It's screaming for more soil with which to root, but physical limitations and the slow nature of evolution leave us dire. As our technology seems to outgrow us, our minds outgrow our bodies, and thus the current insufferable social-economical and political climates throughout the world. Racism, genocide, torture, and war. Nuclear weapons, chemical weapons. Some people and entire societies are barely out of the caves we lived in 60,000 years ago, while the world grows at an unbelievable rate.

taught and twisted creatures
fumbling through the night
the vultures and the weasels
got steely eyes alright
if you don't have any ideas
then why do you exist
the part that you just cant start
is the reason for my bliss

showroom of compassion

2010-01-30T21:29:00.000-06:00

Empires are risen and destroyed within our sonar shores. Everyone has a place but I can't seem to find mine. I see the dark turn of time, and it breaks my inner signals up. It's getting cold landlocked and frozen in past desolations throes. less temporary than the styrofoam cups, broken down cars and pick-up trucks. With whiskey and boredom peace can be found in sprawling lines of anonymous ideas written on pages with simple complexity. Develop the self in rage against the system that betrays me, us. Word is no bond anymore, papers and copies are what spurs the system forward, absent and untrusting as we slip by in the corridors. Be good, be kind, be interesting. I've got a soft spot for anything.

I have no eyes beating at the door.

2010-01-29T18:22:00.000-06:00

Some want it all. Some want it more.
I have no ears, screaming what seem to be words
The American Dream so discouraging. It hurts.
I have no heart beating rhythmic misconception
I use instinctual perception when searching through the voids.
Incarnation of the soul bewildering scientific mind.
You can clap your hands and stomp your feet to the
charging electrical el train beat, down system,
down the roads to LCD youths in tight clothes
fighting the current inside, while going along for the ride
through corrosion of life in blistering sun
beat down, I feel it, you feel it too
I look into the mirror for hope, every time I stare into my own eyes
I have this intense feeling of knowing exactly what and who I am
i don't think it's quite self realization, as being aware and
contemplating your position as a biological self replicating organism
that beats you down the most.
We are the exhausted generation, upon arrival
we absorb ourselves in replication, mass representation
a mediocre modern exile from Eden.
Some words have weight and power, minds are strong
but being what we are, we cannot comprehend the answer.

beggars delight

2010-01-29T01:40:00.001-06:00

    We pass through stores, and wait in lines. We cycle our tickets, and walk through the turn-style. Fragments of paper and trash litter the ground as some memory of life and time. I’m in the world, a part of the world.
    The tiny strips of DNA trace back to survival. We are surviving, and doing so much more. I walk by the guy on the bridge posted on his milk crate. He laughs at the tourist walking by as they avoid eye contact and shuffle to the furthest side. “Scared” he says with a smile and shakes his cup a little louder.
    Fear, I think to myself, is something few people truly know. Those brushes with the darkness that change our perception forever in the new world are seldom seen. I feel connected as the street poet tells me about sleeping on the train and how brushing your teeth every couple days is just as good as three times a day. I feel a connection because at a point I was embracing that feeling on top of a Humvee on the side of a mountain staring at the stars past the brim of a helmet. At least I knew I would eat.
    It takes a special kind of person to live between the lines of society, a halfway person melting reality, and some foreign dream. Surviving sleeping above the warm air of the subway grate. Shaking the cup with the tiny metal discs that mean nothing, or everything. They deal with being ignored, brushed off, and feeling angry. From the “heroes” of a nation to the outsiders living on the banks, it’s really all the same.

Business Kid and The Disco Dogs

2010-01-26T21:27:00.000-06:00

10 Fists To The Earth

The rhythm of the fire moved to the music coming out of the solar powered FM radio. The beach was nice and the night had a cool darkness. Smooth like black velvet and looking into it you got to where you felt like you were being swallowed into the ocean. Peering into the sadness that the depths held for you, except it didn't feel bad, it was an adventure. That night it felt like a whale had moved into the darkness and some kind of static energy floated off of everything. We passed cheap wiskey to eachother drawing circles in the sand. I think I was just trying to float. Float on with the wavy breaks and hot currents of lifes deeps. I saw the numbers in your head clearer than you did. It was no trick we both knew. I lifted the rocks into the air, it was scary. I was afraid. But I was amazed, and excited to the point of hyperventilation. All the stories of people who could do it ended terribly. For a long time it was our secret. I wish I could say it still is, but obviously I wouldn't be here writing this now if that was the case.
_____The head person, whom I should not name, has given me this pencil and pad of paper, one envelope and one stamp. I fear though that this will never reach you. I have been imprisoned the past four years by people whom specialize in abnormalities such as mine. These people are dangerous and I assume know who you are fully, so please do not attempt to find me, I fear that ill wll may befall you if you do brother.
___.......................

Bitter Rich Fool

2010-01-24T23:28:00.000-06:00

Part 3.5

**** 9 ****** lucky me again

___Brent woke up to a scream in the night. A howl of some creature disturbed and flitters of burning light outside danced in the windowpane as Brent's dreary mind sprung alive lazily.
"I'll kill everyone of you sons of bitches! Get the law called on me, I'll burn your carcasses and leave the bones for strays!"
___ This burst obviously came from Mr. Stevens. Jill even caught a bit of the rant as she stirred in bed. Brent went to the window and there was Mr. Stevens in his house coat and boots drinking whiskey from the bottle while holding a burning Maltav cocktail. Brent could hear the raccoons scatter from the garbage in the back of the house. Mr. Stevens took a stumbling run and threw the cocktail into a group of retreating animals. They scurried quickly away and it didn't seem that any were injured. Brent watched the old man as he collapsed and knelt down on the ground watching the fire burn up scortching the lively lawn and dying out in the cool night. Brent felt like he understood the man a little more in seeing his sad nature quietly.
____We all die. It doesn't matter if your worth a million dollars, have a thousand kids, invent the most amazing thing ever, you are expendable.
____Mr. Stevens stared blankly into the advertising box in his living room. He rolled around thoughts inspecting loopholes and options. He did this process frequently with no avail. He eventually forgot what he was doing in the first place. This kept him sharp, but his information was all mixed up. He couldn't differentiate reality from fiction. He didn't know the difference between the truth and fiction, most of which he had made up without recalling his true meaning. This left him uneasy and often afraid of everything outside of himself and outside of his control, because with all this time checking facts and separating created meaning from true meaning had robbed him of most organizational ability. He drove himself mad when deciding on dinner for the evening. The proper placement of silverware and a thousand thoughts on ettiquite, dining, and entertainment filled his head, beckoning him to make everything perfect. In reality he was surrounded in a mess. Yes it was often tidy, but no place of comfort. He often sat in his room enjoying a book, because the insanity would die down behind the words. He would often not even absorb what he had read, but just sit there calmly running his eyes over the words and mouthing or humming a slight tune as he did so to balance with the piercing silence of his lonely dark hollow.
___look out

Everyone wants love, yet no one grows flowers

2010-01-24T13:15:00.000-06:00

stuck in swirling circiuts of sadness
retelling and retolling the lacking nature
of the beast, am the beast
and legends die

I'm standing lakeside
waiting for the high tide
so I can cast my bottle
and say goodby

anxiety is mistaken for
claustrophobic inside
agoraphobic out
wild wild world so boring day to day today

maybe we will meet today
maybe we did yesterday
or the other week or year
but it's all drowned
and no one has any real fear

I'm not going to settle
or settle down
settle around good things
build something from nothing

not going to draw
or draw from experience
not going to throw violence
anger in bundled fists

not going to carve
or carve myself from some
stone that I've become
I let the wind and water do their job

I'm not going to gaze
hypnotized in stasis
playing DVR for familiar faces
hibernating mind going faster than I would like

body dying from health and hindsight
creaking joints and dislocated spine
flat floor calling
white tiles and the faucet running
i look in the mirror
and ask where is my mind

Hollywood and Washington Stole Your Soul

2010-01-22T03:04:00.001-06:00

Part 3 of Many

Archaic and without substance my thoughts tremble and flutter. Senses and perceptions becoming strained from overuse is often recurring. The ground it shakes and breaks away senselessly. Violent cancers storm forth in the bodies of the overworked. Eyes, oh god, tired eyes rolling and seeing all the same things.

???8???? Out of Gas

____It came to him one day when he was buttering his toast. That he should do something about the weeds in the front yard. Something had to be done and that was it. The riding lawnmower had broken down and was parked semi-permanently sixteen feet from the side of the house. The weeds now grew over the lawnmower much to the dismay of his neighbor Brent. Brent's wife had told him it was ridiculous and he really should contact the authorities. Brent thought to be more reasonable, and despite his wife's pleas wrote a letter for Mr. Walter Stevens, the tenant of the tidy cottage house. They had shared a beer in the summer, when Mr. Stevens was more jovial. Since then the relationship had grown more tense and bizarre due to a few nights Mr. Stevens had ran past their dining room window as they were enjoying dinner. Now this normally tolerable offense was amplified by the fact that Mr. Stevens was wearing an adult diaper, and only an adult diaper. To Brent and his wife this seemed like dementia, an old man in his late years losing control. It was when Mr. Stevens stopped and looked at them from the patio doors very close to where they were seated that it became an offensive act. Brent started to get up as Mr. Stevens screamed like an infant, spraying spit onto the clean glass. His hand then reached into the back of the diaper and the old man threw at lump of his own slimy excrement at the window, Brent and his wife both flinched with faces turned in disgust, Mr. Stevens laughed hysterically. He threw his hands into the air and ran back home.

____ Since then Brent and Jill Anderson had spoken with Mr. Stevens brother Mortimer his only surviving relative. Mortimer was 73 and still a quite bright man. Brent was watering his lawn when Mortimer arrived in his luxury sedan and began climbing the steps. Brent waved him over and told him of Mr. Stevens recent turn in behavior. Mortimer was dumbfounded. He had visited his brother regularly and had not noticed anything perculiar, and even claimed he did not know his brother to ever wear an adult diaper. Brent scratched his head in disbelief, Mortimer gave his number and said to call the next time something happened. Since then Mr. Stevens became a recluse shutting up his windows and throwing trash bags out his back door. The local cats and raccoons had found a feasting ground. The Andersons could hear the animals fighting in gluttonous rage every night. Brent had to start locking their own trash cans after a few nights of being toppled over by what could only be a mutant raccoon the size of a Geo Metro.

____This time Brent called the local authorities to complain about this problem. An hour later an officer arrived and spoke with Mr. Stevens through a screen door. Mr. Stevens seemed to be polite. The officer seemed satisfied as he walked away. Brent and Jill were pulling the blinds open to see from a window when Mr. Stevens stared directly at them and gave a smirk as he shut the door.

____Country music was playing outside the gas station where Mr. Stevens was standing and filling a gas can next to his car. He through it in the trunk next to a large bundle of dish rags. He drove home nearly missing hitting a freakishly large raccoon on the way.

more to come...

Filter The Breath You Expel, Diverge In Altruism

2010-01-20T01:00:00.000-06:00

=====5===== Next To Nothing

It will all even out he thought as he rubbed his sweaty hands on his pants. He was inside the station looking through aisles avoiding eye contact with the stocky droog at the checkout window. The colors and the lights were making his head hurt, he quickly looked out to make sure the car was in the same place he had left it moments ago. He grabbed a bag of gummy worms and a large energy drink, opening and consuming them at the counter. The attendant looked at him with twinges of disgust and said
"That all for ya partner." blandly.
"Yeah that's it." the man replied with a choking slurping speech.
Life is made up of these awkward encounters.
He reached for the door as a strange electrical feeling rose from his feet to his spine. fear, instinctual, habitual. Everything was quiet after his foot squeaked in it's place. He looked down into his drink, and red on the label "caffine-free". He turned to look at the attendant
"I..."
The beast stood there in the ripped flesh of the attendant. The entire window was splattered with blood. The skeletal remains twitched and bounced blue in the dimmed light. The man stared into the darkness underneath the flesh, and saw a glimmer of a black eye. He saw teeth and twitching body parts, nerve endings flipping around with stripped muscle tissue. As the man pulled the door open the thing started scraping at the glass with a mix of broken finger bone and what could only be a claw. Out the door he could hear a shriek. He looked back to see the mashed attendants head poking through a spider webbed opening in the bulletproof glass.
He ran. it wasn't the first time he had to.

$$$$$$6$$$$$$ You Bought And Sold Your Love.

Sadly enough nothing is ever enough. Looking through the library for a few books to read. Read them on the train. Get home and don't help but think that it's oddly disabling. It's critically sedating. Rub eyes, rub face, be alive. Maybe shave. Likely to misbehave without haste.

Bourgeois Life Under The Invisible Claw

2010-01-19T22:41:00.000-06:00

Things get very dramatic. ____1____

He gets hot in the sun like a lizard. On the lawn of some rolling meadow, he has droopy socks and sunglasses on. He is thinking about unlocking the secrets of the world. Breaking down life to the smallest form, and relating it completely to that of the universe at large. He looks up to a blazing sun seeing tiny swirls of life floating through the air. He breathes in and hears a birds chirp in the distance. The numbers are there and he will change the way we perceive reality. A whir comes up behind him and as atoms burst in his mind, a frisbee smashes into his temple.

He died.

Very A-typical shit._____2________

The grapes of wrath grow on the vines of the powerful, using the Earth of man. They don't control the sun, so for now they still have a god they haven't conquered. If fiction, in ways, still dictates life, then everyone is always somewhat right.

You Send Me Darling >>>--<3-->

The moon came out. We didn't expect it to so early. I always think of Dune when I see it and I'm not even sure if that is relevant. We smashed a lot of bugs on dirty windshields from the road and from the cold. I think you wore mittens. I think I was someone different. I feel like I'm someone different. I have grown, but in many ways I'm still the same. I've learned that there is hardly ever perfect, there is only bad and in between. passion, burning kindling. Too many down turned eye brows, too many faces filled with frowns. I will no longer be the sad clown, sappy sucker, god damn.

++++++++++++4+++++++++++++Maybe This Will Make Sense, Rose

I pictured this as being the malleable state that I could do what I wanted t.........

the lord of obstacles
disintegrates reality
a vicious adversary beast

speak bitterly of darkness
when you have not witnessed light
the state and shape of the ways
words aren't worth ancient waste

...t wasn't quite what I meant.

to be continued...

yay

2010-01-19T01:31:00.000-06:00

If i were born an animal I would probably be dead. I hope when I die I can read this.
I hope that the darkness doesn't erase.

middle man

2010-01-13T23:05:00.003-06:00

The shadows moved like sunflower daydreams across the dull red woven carpet. I could hear a cricket chirping somewhere behind my sweaty back. It's tweets were off beat reminders of existence. This "living" room is not very well named. I don't do much of that here. I swat flies with windows open in the summertime. My dirty bathrobe and hospital slippers are grimy and worn from repeated sittings. I've started to drool. That never happened when I was young. When I still worked at the factory bending metal and driving men to quotas. I, I look at myself and think "what can I do, I'm getting old it's what happens, nature, that bitch, she drags us all down and you knew it would happen you son of a bitch! what can I do now!" Then I collapse into gas filled cushions and bury myself in a pixelated tomb while gorging on mounds of fabricated sustenance that fuel my endless desperation. What have we become.
I don't want to drink. I failed at drinking when my liver did not fail me. Oh, but I feel it's anguish deep inside. A throbbing hurt from abuse and neglect, the worst kind. I had felt my mind fading a long time ago. When I washed it further away with endless cycles of entertainment and living without being whole. I kept my optimism for so long. I kept my head up and my heart open, but the bitter dusts of dissatisfaction wore down on what can only be my soul. No tragic events, a life fruitless may be tragic itself although easy to control.
callouses and cars. Yard space and scars. distance without resistance. utter downfall.

I have eyes to see the complexities of the world and barely the mind to understand. nmbrs nd lttrs hve s mch spc btwn lrnng nd knwng nd jst bng. I have a tugging at the back of my neck from holding up a heavy head. Sleep, sweet sleep. Drown me and take me to the next step. The sun lightens the sky, shadows fade and die.

2010-01-09T19:51:00.002-06:00

it's so simple to roll into a lull
a lower than low in the show
that I call self control

auburning me alive

2010-01-08T19:53:00.002-06:00

stomachs in our ears
deriving separation
our worlds are worlds apart
honesty policy falls short
you can strew it
you can shout
all the eyes are slowly falling out

on my paper in truth through the meaning
in little bits of me and mind and mine
o my god please please please
the shake downs out on the nod

right my mind like no other kind
the stray way we fumble without light
these arms might hold us up for a night
well done somewhere else,
{ somewhere dying eyes still shine bright }

my buddy's in the foxho-o-0le
he got shot in the hey-e-ed
the medic say's he's wounde-e-ed
but I know that he's de-e-ead

you've still got rhythm
you've still got blues
out of answers worth wild without proof
it's one a.m. if the alarm clock is true
whiskey wisdom coming through

can't you see, a fire in me
Thermite and fury
how many more cities can be buried
nights of losing lives
meanwhile galaxy constantly moving
we will soon be fossilized

Lone life long lost in bitter sweet chaos
the frost drops and slips down to bottoms top

the guides lost his sense of the ropes
you stutter and stare, blank into the air
shaking hands and shaking head
narcissistic necessity fit to fix
bold bronzed and made to start shit
nothing is fine, you need what You want
fostered in failed mindset speculations of reality

ground down ground zero no heroes can ever be
speculated as spot on soldiering so full of selfless service sickened silently

grain

2010-01-07T17:13:00.002-06:00

As I read Vonnegut's tales I realize that I lost most of my humanity. I am thinking very intently about my relationship to the world and it's getting sadder as I grow older. I know 26 is still young, there is plenty of time...
So at a young age by societies definition, i witnessed and experienced some less than normal situations involving people and cultures in conflict. I've seen emptiness and beauty in mankind. I don't know what I can say to fully explain my present nature in definitive terms. Following along that path I can not explain most of nature in any definitive terms. but i can say-
there was a sun and a moon and we were just spinnin' round
satisfaction at every angle, high of heights and lowest of grounds
and i don't know
if i have a soul
this mind of mine sure beats me down
hold the elevator door
and i don't know
should I say within the eyes of the enemies that I plead for more
got me in debt to the mindset that bleeds me dry
from wounds that are still sore

2010-01-06T21:16:00.002-06:00

When I was a kid I loved to go outside. I loved to walk with my mom anywhere in the sun. Climbing trees and digging up anything interesting. The world was cool and full of amazing things, at least wherever the confines of dependency allowed us to be.
FTW
pass it to the left hand side. going counter clockwise. Like a clock turning back time. Three steps and turn behind another child of mankind. I carry my weight. I carry it in plastic bags tied wrought around my waist. I turn every three steps and keep my pace. I've traveled all around but every time I walk I turn around. Around and around the spacious places under foot, underneath, unknowingly.
Blind side and I don't sound right. High and dry I don't feel right. I've fallen so far and now the clouds are empty bars retaining invisibly. I'm frightened for me. in stereo and on tv. bland dinner my palette doesn't taste like it should, wish I were good enough, or something that someone might love. I'm powerless against antics and secretly drink from a cup overfilled and it's spilled making me plain, insane, gone over the edge once again.
I blither and blabber as the mud splatters on me, and trees look like burning fiends tired and swaying in the breeze, dissolving me, and I see that you've made it home again. It's all over again, this shadow that won't repent and I resent all the things that you said. Party on Wayne, party on Garth, on toward the new sights the new sounds and forget your cough, the coffee is cold and it's time to move on to something I like, something I dream, and don't you forget, we've all been absolved we don't have to pay rent
and the company calls us again. The phone is wet from streamin, it's no surprise, it's my demise, it would be wise to just hang up my hat. And say goodnight.

2010-01-04T21:52:00.002-06:00

was what you said just not enough
was it all red in the middle of love
do you need some time or someone new
ready for nothing, nothing new
god is impossible
impossible to please
please please me
wait wait don't tell me you've been waiting
in straight lace pleasantly
peacefully shine deep
dissect the shit out of me
till that black lung can no longer breathe
you can't kill the heart, my heart
even though it's on my sleeve
even through bitter warning
thoughts, and eyes wander over me
steadily growing patient without apathy
slow liquor pour downed four
steady as I roll and lose control over
you your mind me
self prescribing
loss of dignity
escape of my esteem
the blackness of my dreams
the doctor I haven't seen
the pain in my kidneys
the tired glaze of eyes dazed
fastened to laptop screen
spreading words like sacred code
into flowing streams

all of your love
life is forever
words you said and didn't write or vice versa
words written so well but lacking vocal devotion
thoughts trickling down and too shy to spout them
to weak to fight your hand
to hold it on to mine
fear, fear is a cold black creature
that spouts from the face of death itself
as it strengthens my god the change
in brain waves
in processing and computing
in putting it together and getting your shit together
why bother getting old when you can get crazy god dammit
why bother filling the holes that were left from being cradled. Expectation. Relentless. It figures. The math doesn't work because I don't fucking work. The cards are all shit and for me they always have been, fuck, fuck, fuck. the house and the shadows, the slips and slides, I am built from scraps of life that we have in this parade of shit. al;;;;;;;;jks f;ajsdfiwepoirquweopiaefujdsl;jkfhgawsjkgdflzj fhdskjah;akhgakldsjffhsldksjsoiieuuthfdjsal;a;apqlwnvxmvn,zsoojwoayfnglsjdssmcjsnflajgeja;ljsjflsjfjfsfljsfljs
jfslfsliejejejeieieijejejeejjejejejejejejejeejejjjejejejejsjsjsjjejjsjejiwiwiejwijewijeijwieijejjejeelkjwrw;ljqq;lkwjerlwqkejrsadifiuq[ruworwowfsoujafskj

the feeling is still there
the madness is still there
i am still there
the smell is still there
the brief moment is still there
shit luck shit for brains dumb shitty shit

i will

win

Stars and Stripes

2010-01-04T18:53:00.002-06:00

http://www.stripes.com/article.asp?section=104&article=66798

this is an article with a portion of an interview with me about poetry and healing PTSD. It was a great conversation and there is even an excerpt of my work in the article as well. Thanks to all the folks at Stars and Stripes, David Allen the articles author and fellow Vet Poet, Lisa, Jessa, and everyone in the Vet Art Project for putting together platforms, which make this knowledge and methodology available to any and all.

Check out David's blog at www.davidallen.nu
and his e-zine at www.eatwritecafe.com

basking in the glow of a million exploding grenades

2010-01-03T18:34:00.002-06:00

oh my eyes
through dusty splinters
searching the ground for losses
torn scraps of metal, holes in the walls
ceilings caving in, ears ringing
hesco hotels and radio calls
shoulder launched disappears in the sparks
green light white light go
lined up in sight no where to go
cradled in ammunition
weakened but still strong
violent hellfire rage rips the atmosphere open
eyes adjust
itching trigger fingers til dawn
sights lined and set to call
no telephone, no satellite, no alcohol
tango oscar november india golf hotel tango
india
whiskey alpha sierra
delta echo alpha tango hotel

without which would i be better
without which would i survive
i was outside within
lost in a lasting transition

on and off a wagon without wheels

2010-01-02T14:04:00.002-06:00

people live
grow
search
to get out of the darkness

some look into it
with glowing eyes
bombarded by the desperation
that comes out in sodium filled sweat

Delirium Tremens
testing mortality
the cold turkey freeze
bitter liquidity

it matters not where I lay my head, but where my conscience lies. in gulleys, galleys, ravines, in mechanical dreams, in political seams, it seems like we are distancing our selves from each other and everyone needs different things, it makes a difference to me whether we know and see or we make hearts bleed when in need. make it stop. make it stop please.

2010-01-02T13:16:00.002-06:00

liquor stain tongue smoke ring rolls
awkward hands shaking in the cold
heavy heart still fresh in the folds
filling emptying living tissue
bitten and waiting to bite some
not enough, have to be something
have to be worth realizing

shame, old dog
dirty bomb drops
silence in moving scenes
where trees sidewalks and soda machines
melt together in light radiating
where loss is lossy and negating
Where I am nothing
in a confusing consumer dream
where acting is real reality

I can't count the beats in your chest. I can't fight that beat in mine. Life is but a series of fights, of lonely battles on waterfronts unseen. We watch as those who run forward changing the matter they are running from, toward, with , away from as they go. Trails of papers, and videos slide in that line as they move. We watch and look behind us and see a smaller, dimmer trail. Those who are burning bright rise as they go and escape those bullets of pain that fire down from mountain tops impossibly out of reach. I often feel as if I am crawling on that sandy beach. Spitting the taste of salt and seaweed from the side of my mouth and disappearing into the cover of being an outsider. From this view I can see the world and everything from underneath. Things you wouldn't understand if you only do what you see, if you only read what you need, if you are too scared to bleed.

If you have any I will eat your sin
transferred from you to me
I'm going down anyway
if there is atonement it's latency
diminishes with me

Well god damn here we go again,
sorry sad sucker feeling low again
everybody put on some new damn shoes
everybody put out all that your used to
barreling down barrels of oil in our machines
into our plastics, smokestacks and everything
choking carbon floral chlorides destroying me
destroying the children in arms

fuck these days where i sit alone watching tv. I get nothing, no inspiration, no happiness I feel cold and unamused. All I can do is write. It's a supplement during, before, and between drinks. And as I sip more my memory leaks, words become tweaked repeats of all the things I've said before. I have nothing new to say today and hardly ever come up with anything nearly as interesting as I did on something. I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i ii i i i i ii i i ii i ii i ii i i i i ii i i ii i i i ii i i i ii i i i i i i ii i i i ii i i i i ii i i ii i i i i ii i i i i ii i i ii i i i ii i ii i ii i i i ii i ii iii i ii i ii i ii i i ii i ii i ii ii i i i ii i ii i ii ii i ii i ii i i
who am

Avante Garde Duty Free

2010-01-01T13:02:00.003-06:00

my dreams are sunken in obstruction
lacking satisfaction confounded by abstraction
this distraction lackens my senses
penetrates my defenses
devastating smoke screens
of living breathing beings

I love the blur,
the motions,
shadows casting slipping by
how our words and symbols
slyly collide in our lives and minds
disappearing reappearing everything
winding tight wrought ropes of eternity
flickering lights and energy releases in space
till blackness dissolves any trace

I held my breath all night. I drank between grinning teeth, ate, and sang some I think. I strung strange instruments and played to everyone's disbelief. I've been reading about mythology and the human psyche. Are we all Odysseus the champion of gods and men. Are we noble rogues in eternal struggle with nature's paved ways. Am I living in the scientific realm to hide myself from Ra and Zeus? Is my mana holding traces of ancient remains?

3.14
0,1,1,2,3,5,8,13,21,34,55,89,144
all it is is anything

curves and straight lines flow through the reflections in my eyes
cones and rods capture and analyze
I see said the blind man,
but I don't even try

towing

2009-12-29T20:36:00.002-06:00

I used to think I'd never be able to live or die. I thought that things would just slow down and moments pass by. The winds of change are powerful. The might they use to carry me place to place. the lack of restraint in my cost and waste. I hold my mouth shut and keep my pace only long enough to grow some and then fade with no grace.
Bitter wine in my mouth, I've shunned so much and it's not even down. Down is crawling getting to, from, or away. shattered limbs and bones that can break, broken laws and broken homes, broken watch forever running late. Total recollection, sudden depression, instant regression, alllllllllllllll of the above.
distant
(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((damaged
******************damned
r^ght now I'm wishing away pain.
$tretching muscle and vertebrae
calculating co$t and disarray
palpitations of the heart aren't going away
flickers of nothing that I make into something
leave no words of worth left to say

I think way too much

2009-12-23T13:06:00.003-06:00

well we turned wrenches til we drew blood then spun once around again
the battles that we have won hard not to say we are losing it
I'm pestilent and part of the problems we all drunkenly speak of
you are just a strolling bomb that I had seen before

some dreams they exhaust us to where we all want to give up
you're hands get cramped and you think you cant put pressure on anything anymore
poisoned by lead we can barely hold the world up struggling ankles draggin' all across the floor
it hurts just to look in the mirror thinking everything that is made for you
one and all one and the same we got ideals, ideas, and our families so strange
we got the dandelions in the summer time floating away whitening things as they rise

some day they'll have glass houses and stones but you know we have to pay
dark trees talk to me and they don't have much left to say
I'm losing my particles in the spaces in between
try makin' my mind again but it's tuggin at the sleeve
you know it's colder when the snow has frozen over top
common nature is the enemy and god I think I'll just float on
given up on a residence this bottom mirrors the top
stylize your life around everything your eyes have caught

we wasted all our lonely hearts
walking from home to work to love to art
seen a bit too much of dirty earth now just stare at stars
we see straight angles splitting up from the floor
slanted lines just pantomiming what we hope they are
and old gargoyle got a hopeless standing post
these spirits don't scare they'll stare you in the eye
lets untie these splintering ropes

stage 1:
you give up on everything
stage 2:
you realize what is important
stage 3:
invest in reality
stage 4:
wade through faded moments in living eternity
endless aggression and want for more
cynicism debate and introspect to the core

The Thinking Primate and His Ubiquitous Lacks

Act !

a man tunes a piano in an empty music store. The store is filled with memorabilia from early 20th century American music. It smells like fragrant wood polish and books. Light enhances the elegant smoothness of the instruments on display.
He hits the E key and picks up that perfect tune. Man that is nice. The strings inside bounce with him as his foot pedals in time. Moving quickly into a sprawling melody. Fading daylight shines in and hits him just right. What a good sounding machine.
In his face his soft happy stare is sticking. It's glitching and jerking to the side. His fingers can't hit the keys right. The sound of wood creaking shimmers with the rest of the sound waves growing in a disjointed harmonic way. Strings stretch to points unintended and snap. They shoot up from the still resonating black piano like snakes with quivering bent metal sounds. His face is withering piece by piece while paying no attention to the wound creatures snapping at him from inside the beast holding him there. He glitches to skeletal mass and muscular membrane while retaining demeanor and class. The white keys smear with blood and fingers slip off in spastic intervals as slick tissue and smooth bone try to play with the same intensity as before.

ACT@

Howl beneath your tired eyes. Dream quiet and hopeful. I wonder what happened to those people who felt those ways back in the days who displayed so much taste. I know someone out there is the same way. The same bold hearts and long eyelashes. Kissing on cheeks.
So many fakes impostors. You can't hold onto something. You can't help anyone all the time, or expect to be helped in everything. Be silent behind closed eyes. Watch the picture frames light up and disappear back into your mind.

ACT#

10946
(F)

27000 = 30×30×30 = 3³×10³ Approximately the number of days in an expected lifetime for most readers of this page

(F)

ACT$

Faux sleep and sickness. Faux need and posession. Fake care and admiration.
Build and build. Rate yourselves and everyone else. Buy, buy, bye.
Our names don't carry any weight, but our bodies and minds do. I guess we can never have enough.

2009-12-23T01:26:00.002-06:00

oh oh oh oh
talk to me
tell me of your amazing things
your honest thoughts and special dreams
guide me, take a hand and make sure you are ready
take a step when your feet get heavy
spin, spun, turning in sync
i can't compel you to compel me
i can have anything I want but I want substance
mental subsistence
pages turned glorious millions of pages
of words of growth and life and help
of positivity, out of poverty, out of love
i want juxtaposition and reposition
of endless fruition
the way I don't want to make you uneasy
or too easy, or anything anyone wants us to be
whats this hip new now on and on and on

I've got seeds for everything
too many planted for me to be so empty
hollowed out like cast bronze, patina fading my soul
rust copper grind metal blood blood blood
makes the green dolllars grow drill sergant
worth nothing something anything everything
worth a second, a brif one where we kiss and tussle our hair while i slide
I slide into fear and dwindling self worth
I can do a million beautiful things but what is it worth
when I can't speak my mind about falling in love
how can I live without love
life, is life, is life, is empty sometimes
I will hold onto the idea of you, I will
I will hold on too small conversations with you
your eyes, oh eyes that spin around the room
they cant focus i'm not comfortable
this could be weird, hope, help, hope
oh that hair and that beauty
god forgive us and forsake the rest, no profound demon
will lay in his nest,old hope
old arms old smile
old dreams I may be enough
when you say you are done
done is done and fun is fun,
you, rich in soul, rich in life
been held a million more times
I'm lost, I'm lost in admiration and exhaltation, rich poor and
dead
dead
dead
dead
dead
desolate destination the fasts far from devilation
deviation, retaliatory tactics to battle back handed
fanatics, to subvert, submiss, and subject the
train wreck of you life into little shelves with
paperweights and staples, with gorgeous drapes
and capes, living in caves, feeling off our animals.
I'm a collective thought and aparition
a full fledged monotone methadone century

a convo in the key of M

2009-12-14T23:05:00.002-06:00

the sounds of the snaps, and the claps that we made
echoed and rolled, away with the train
no other place, felt quite the same
as I did when you said that you felt like you needed to breathe;
something new and extreme

I thought way too much and it wasn't enough
my mind is stuffed with too many ideas
I want it all I want everything,
I want to wake while I dream and then sleep
sleep off all of the weight and the fate
the destiny that too soon will consume me
it's all that I see
you have holes in your theory and I'm growing weary
of righting the wrongs in our history
so please leave it be

Fairness to the Fiend

2009-12-12T13:51:00.001-06:00

Fairness to the Fiend

I brushed up against the lake
in blossoming lights
the moon and skyscrapers
cold gusts swelling by

in shattered mirror waves
a rolling current played
tattered wisps of beauty
made my hungers fade

this costly process is not lossless
and sticky thoughts rip through
-------each time they tear
I fade with them
I hate this time of year

2009-12-06T02:39:00.002-06:00

I tell myself she will appear like a rocket in my face. She will smile and know at first glimpse there is no other man but me, and I feel the same. I feel like if it isn't her then there is not a her. I tell myself it will last forever, and be just right. I'm not like normal people. I don't have all the shared experiences and often live a much more dramatic life. Those others, whom I know and associate, actually I consider us outsiders. The pack that picked a different draft. you colored me, you colored me red and now I know. I know I live and breathe and affect everyone, everything. I build and grow and learn and read. I've seen a thousand and one lives through pages alone. Mark Twain still rests on my brain as I fall asleep alone.
i have a feeling that life has more tricks up it's sleeve. Things I've heard but never really learned, desperate for answers but draw no hopes in return. My days are cool walks and watching faces. i'm a bore and i've got to face it eventually learn to embrace it.
Oh the smoothness of everything. A world full of hollow clanking machines, humming strange things so sudden changing. Oh television your guiding moralistic way. Your twisted mind and vast array, your guns, wounds, crime, drama, and comedy. Oh radio your sounds mysteriously familiar and surprising. still the children cry, still the grown fight, fuck, and die. Bow, da bow dow, boom, chicka, boom chick
seriously deciding which go to the way
bricks plaster casted in artificial wake
in builderly decay, in silent sustain
I catch the air and the warmth of a home sweet. Everyone thought the best they could be was much smaller than what they were. What we were, who we are, grown together, we made it so far. You equal, all knowing on nothing at all against the wall, begging for description decision just about anything you can swing or grab, nab or stab, filter or fillet, diced sliced and demented with dismay. Splintered shivers all down my spine and no mind can betray with so little to say. Goodbye sorrow, goodbye greed, we bed farewell once before, and I must say goodnight again.

with whole open eyes veined and shining in alley light fade and zoom to look and adjust to the ferocity of the street light. to change ways mid flight. Lets cradle the earth as it once died. I will die and lay decaying for this and every other night, till life suffices to devices that derive to destruction, reducing the value of human kind. Or any kind at all. You are I am we are all together. So don't run, don't run like a pig from a gun go fight. Go fight for your right to whatever. To whenever. Whatever.
Smoke your cigarettes dyers out in the safety of the street. I gaze and all I can get is more distance from me. Ernest says I'm afraid, but he also says something about a camp. I tell him his legs are cold and he needs better pants. He says he is paralyzed and can't feel it anyway. I fade. I'm lost, I always lose myself a little bit. I met a lot of people tonight, made some people happy, and that's what holidays are about right? I'm lost loving lone like bullshit all the time. I'm six fingers in and it's once again time for the knife.
Every time I get a little bit I want more, need more, fiend for more. Of tingling nerve endings, sensations, thrills, and amusing things. oh your eyes, damnit. oh your bittersweet face. your cosmic placement is a strategic encasement working against me. Not with or along, not awake and alarmed, like the tide you rise and you fall, your eerie noise echoes in my thoughts. be gone going gone everyone, your done, enough, sorry for you but gravity will not suffice. Elm trees you're in my mind, You a Birch splintering bark in winter light. Olive branches are lost and floating in the river of night. The dove lay in it's cage, wasting it's spirit through each age.

2009-12-01T00:27:00.003-06:00

I wanna be
what everyone wants to be
alright I've got a few dollars
and a place to sleep for the night
I got places to be
great things to see and ignite
brand into memory
each falling tide each turning leaf
shadows of apprehension and belief
disguised is the life
disguised it hides
under thick skins and wound wrists
inside of bloodshot eyes
in open veins
wrenching in ecstatic pain
hazed blue in cold snowy lamplight
grimace and awe
guilty as sin but what is this sin we are in
totally devoid demolished destroyed
hey hey hey we blazed today
we watched open pores as it pours
liquid cement can't lament
this tired and tolled light
on forward crackling out into the night

eyes eyes open and release
proteins and chemical relief
bending the system to sleep
wake up wake up understand
we were created strangled and debated
we are bound and gagged with grocery bags
drowning from conscious delights
this sight isn't right I might
hide and cough away the rest of me
I might as easily have been
what I could possibly be
waking in summertime
with sweet dreams still in my mind
where happiness may fairly lie
dazed and defeated gone with the wind
and gone in sin
that discipline wont make you win
shake in the dark
embarking on this journey will surely
devastate and no longer relate
to anything, anyone, once it's begun
once destiny's web is spun

Someone
builds the future
someone can be a pronoun or a noun
an unknown force to be found
between the liars and thieves
between you and me
the spaces unseen
dimensions beneath the beneath
twisted up in time
dragging the coattails of endless release
infinite grief
I'm in need and I bleed
when cut and shut up
shut up everything
everything doesn't mean a thing to me
lone lost waiting, wanting, hating
spin old world and universe
spin and play
in the dismal spaces of reflexive decay
on dust, dirt, matter that will soon fade

be kind, be you
nothing more to say

2009-11-29T03:54:00.002-06:00

I sit in the office at the cab company dazedly tracing maps on the wall with open eyes
dry and not ready to slip into sleeps sagging grip
Life and it's suffering endings
where people are building and building
where atoms are splitting and spitting the fires of creation
by mans hand and endless imagination
i digress to ingest the pill to recess into
some form of slave in mind and in pain
the strain to pay to keep things the same
low income, no income, don't come bother me
look what you got I need that too
I want some of the pie I'm entitled to
the reaper is paid on minimum wage as debts collect
our spirits fade and numbers on receipts do not matter
that designer bag and bad tan will not stand
the force and course of a rhythmic physics winter
we sold short our selves our lives in progress
bars and chains lost souls and blood stains
as we pack 'em in they become strange, estranged
belonging to something because, don't die don't
fight, fuck, feel,
run, jump, breathe,
see, share, believe

rage fades and I say oh well
don't dwell it will put you in a spell
from then fell to hell and no souls can tell
born into this mess into this all
this racing spinning pinball machine
riding into the night as the sounds of bells ding
and ring out symphonies of bliss
into the eternal vacuums of nothing
waiting to be erased from the future of history
twenty is the sum of Fibonacci
twelve jurors is all you need

f it im gone home

2009-11-19T01:15:00.003-06:00

It is 1:16 in the morning
I don't hear the clatter and clamor
of the alley people that I've grown accustomed to
those loud rantings that rattle through the air
bouncing from wall to wall and into my ear
The cold must have pushed them inside
into little spaces gazing sleepily
with hospital beds and color t.v.

They see faces, games,
illusions, life,
things they want,
people they enjoy ,
and objects they like

The broken people lie dormant
when winters sickening face shows
they hold in the howls and hacks
that braved old warm mornings
Hot with the ferocity of liquor
passionate in some taboo quest
they gag on memories and smoke,
cackling into the night
owners of the night
whimpering rhythm and blues like anthems
in flickering pipe light

We used to drink and go to the river
skate up and down the docks
enthralled in a search for something beyond our comprehension
we would coast past the bums sleeping on benches in Liberty Park
our faces red and heads doused in sweat
often falling on cool red stones
bursting with energy in the sleeping city
as we give the ledge one last shot

Hillbilly Hell

2009-11-18T00:22:00.003-06:00

No
Rare
Creatures

long range

2009-11-15T23:14:00.003-06:00

I look both ways

, and cross the intersection
on forward, toward the money, cars, that run on work
on toward the light, the furthered lives, rich with earth
on people go rounding the circle so slow,
but this sight that lit these lights show
the things we don't know, wouldn't, couldn't know

creation,
one moment in time, where things began
where the formula for decisions came forward with plan
you, you feral creature,
us like packs within a hive
where we swim, run, or fly
burning and churning the world as we die

awake, you blade you sculptor
ride into smashing waves and brave the thunder
the minds subtle signs don't blind,
so resign yourself to the feeling
that everything goes as it should
though sometimes it seems that we are torn at the seams
unwinding and finding things a bit mixed up but...
wake up^
don't thrive on discredit concern for the return
it will burn with silences sweet pangs of November's rains
lazily chasing rabbits through habits pains
through every drop water set to drain,
through golden arches and maize
bowing down dilapidated in praise

old numbers written,
stenciled hastily inside the mind
pushing, pushing buttons to no where, no one.
subtle sordid and strengthened through the sun
you, who thought it true to part ways and stay late
waiting frozen like dead batteries of the earth, like
wax figures in nuclear dawn

have fun son, live life long loving, not to think that;
we are runners gunning and shunning the fact
that this system is flawed and completely off of track
I choose to boost my self esteem with a total lack
of dreams

in sleeps tired eyes
or cool salt breeze and fireflies
we all have to roll the dice
around the world searching for paradice
on the way I've grown in my mind and my eyes
a weary warrior who was woefully wounded,
through himself and he had chose to,
but life goes it gets thick with pain tears and shit,
so droned out we barely resist or persist on things
the "sayers" do proclaim and strain to refrain from this
exact exhibit with wistful wit, wise wealthy winners
win on, and are wrought up in a new bought way
well ascended from the medium range
thoughts so sullen and strange simmer slowly
under burning furnace flame,
ignited electronically
made easy and marketed freely
paid dollars, greasy, sleazy
illegally bleed those in need in due time and due place
the greed reigns supreme as it's exploded spleen
spews blood red money no structure of green
elude, allude, illusions pay, paid, due, overdue, overdraft
underpaid, undercut, interest, fee, free to see that this is you
and this is being told to be
this is you one day, dust and bone

created in this space to displace the race, the breed, the number
orders and creed, the sly, the hand, the bribed, souled up, fouled
bankrupt, spenders, spendthrifts, sold out, brought up, used up
split cells, dollar bills, change, change, glistening under moth
shuttered light in open air in calming wave drifting off
in other world in fantasy in play and in prayer in harmony
in karmas wrangling hold folded into place into play
the pawn pieces of eternities game
played till the pieces are too frayed to remain
this strain makes me say that nothing is the same
would I, you, we would, are, ok,
alright
I'll make the world made for me