01.29.08
yes boy i'am a daydream cocksure. Spill your fluid and ill drown. Oh god dearest, Annihilation is intense nowadays. Born to be bad but destined to be good. Oh yes yes pie filling holiday sunday dreamscape of cloud and brainliness! Im gonna say i once met someone a long time ago with an idea that there now a character in a play, it wandered around aimlessly looking for people, for a sure sign of life. Gave them some pudding yes i didnt. Ho. No Hos here mr corporate. Hey ho. Mrs vandebilt i forgot the lyrics to your shit so i made my own ok. Is this fucking clear here or what. Gonna publish this shit nigga'. In this corner we have a man with paper giving himself a cut on both sides of his divine lips. Watching him, im calling you from annapolis maryland. Got a three way phone going down and a lot of love coming up. French la las doom their children in the kind of scenery that you would expect to find behind you. Down the street, down to greet the homos feet. Fear of the fucking and sucking of the succulent steers. [AWKWARD but necessary use of language] I dont really subscribe to any particular manifestation i told him but this was out of the lot. Gotta think loudly and be conscious of your blinking. That i HAD totally forgot. He swears hes not to blame. I heard different. So were buying ladders. So were getting high. Ok. And this windmill turned a thousand times while i was there. Hiding. Living. Need so much space right now. so much right now he said in a vague fuck you kind of tone. Talking about tomorrow as ifif he were guaranteed it. Well ill give ya 50 bucks to tell me why. With no reason it was his and his alone. On the street a woman with a violin case stops at a fire hydrant nation lot map of the citys corn roast cobbing clubs. Plays me a song. I pay her to do it. We dont get along. She shakes and tears the strings with her teeth. Sobbing devotionally in front of the funeral home. Her father just died ina fire there. Nice i said. Nice you care i really meant. I want to say that Iam not for dueling on sundays. I have a re enactment of the crucifixion in my basement and this story has no limit. Jesus walks straight out of the wild west saloon swinging door stylin man o wars and straight on the cross. Then does this rise from the dead thing and goes straight back into them doors. I heard hell is behind there. I never want to know because its in my basement. I dont mind really, a friends sub land maybe but i spend some time there and i hate to tell the truth. Suppose in the basement your just that much close to hell ei ei ei?
I know a man named Cage. He comes straight out of nowhere and goes straight back in. I try and catch him. Cannot win. Tricks me to the sound of Curtis. Liars are my only friends i screamed towards his mother watching him continuously hide and show and that high speed with a handkerchief at her eyes. He still thinks hes in a play. They still think no one can see them.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Refusal to Pledge
02.18.08
*This is the letter I wrote to the school administration on my decision to decline saying the pledge senior year.
For the past three years or so, I’ve been hesitant to recite the pledge of allegiance in school. However, it isn’t because I’m lazy or want to make some kind of scene. It’s simply due to the fact that I do not support the actions and ideals of the Bush administration or the current state of American society, or the blatant reference to God which I find very wrong and offensive to recite drawing on the fact that I do not believe in organized religion. But anyway, why should I be obliged to pledge allegiance to anything? Being obligated to do so violates the first amendment of the United States constitution. The West Virginia State Board v. Barnette ruled in 1943 that students cannot be forced to salute the American flag or recite the pledge of allegiance. And although one may not necessarily be “forced” to do so, it is rather ridiculous that it so enforced in the school. I have a lot of respect and admiration for the basis and ideals that the country was founded upon. I also have respect and admiration for those who do choose to recite the pledge. However, I’d like to know how many other countries choose to indoctrinate their children in such a manner, because its true if you say something enough you’ll eventually begin to believe it and in the pledge of allegiance there’s a lot of contradictories and inaccuracies. Such as the liberty and justice for all part. How can we proclaim that when we alone, brutally wiped out the majority of the Indian population and stole their land, enslaved and killed millions of Africans, brutally invaded little island nations in an imperialistic rampage in the early 20th century (Hawaii, Phillipines), sent thousands of Japanese citizens to containment camps in the 1940’s in the occasional state of old fashioned American paranoia, or the FBI Waco incident of 1993 etc etc. Few other countries have demoralized and harmed their own citizens more than the United States in so many different ways ranging from the ones expressed above to the very essence of modern day corporate America. It doesn’t matter if it was in 1850 or 2008. It happened, and not so long ago, and proclaiming that we are liberty and justice for all is simply a massive contradiction and over glorification of the United States, one I refuse to accept. It may be what we believe but it isn’t always what we practice. I understand we are not a perfect society; there can be no such thing. Me not saying the pledge does not make me Anti- American. The belief that one must recite it to be American is anti American. I am simply against saying the pledge because it represents certain aspects of American life, which I do not deem as part of my beliefs. In theory I believe it, in reality I do not. I find this kind of dull form of patriotism to be an old product of the conservative right and we will find in the future it has no place in the global society. But saying the pledge of allegiance violates my ideals and beliefs and that is why I will not recite it in the near future.
*This is the letter I wrote to the school administration on my decision to decline saying the pledge senior year.
For the past three years or so, I’ve been hesitant to recite the pledge of allegiance in school. However, it isn’t because I’m lazy or want to make some kind of scene. It’s simply due to the fact that I do not support the actions and ideals of the Bush administration or the current state of American society, or the blatant reference to God which I find very wrong and offensive to recite drawing on the fact that I do not believe in organized religion. But anyway, why should I be obliged to pledge allegiance to anything? Being obligated to do so violates the first amendment of the United States constitution. The West Virginia State Board v. Barnette ruled in 1943 that students cannot be forced to salute the American flag or recite the pledge of allegiance. And although one may not necessarily be “forced” to do so, it is rather ridiculous that it so enforced in the school. I have a lot of respect and admiration for the basis and ideals that the country was founded upon. I also have respect and admiration for those who do choose to recite the pledge. However, I’d like to know how many other countries choose to indoctrinate their children in such a manner, because its true if you say something enough you’ll eventually begin to believe it and in the pledge of allegiance there’s a lot of contradictories and inaccuracies. Such as the liberty and justice for all part. How can we proclaim that when we alone, brutally wiped out the majority of the Indian population and stole their land, enslaved and killed millions of Africans, brutally invaded little island nations in an imperialistic rampage in the early 20th century (Hawaii, Phillipines), sent thousands of Japanese citizens to containment camps in the 1940’s in the occasional state of old fashioned American paranoia, or the FBI Waco incident of 1993 etc etc. Few other countries have demoralized and harmed their own citizens more than the United States in so many different ways ranging from the ones expressed above to the very essence of modern day corporate America. It doesn’t matter if it was in 1850 or 2008. It happened, and not so long ago, and proclaiming that we are liberty and justice for all is simply a massive contradiction and over glorification of the United States, one I refuse to accept. It may be what we believe but it isn’t always what we practice. I understand we are not a perfect society; there can be no such thing. Me not saying the pledge does not make me Anti- American. The belief that one must recite it to be American is anti American. I am simply against saying the pledge because it represents certain aspects of American life, which I do not deem as part of my beliefs. In theory I believe it, in reality I do not. I find this kind of dull form of patriotism to be an old product of the conservative right and we will find in the future it has no place in the global society. But saying the pledge of allegiance violates my ideals and beliefs and that is why I will not recite it in the near future.
Things You Can't Say On Television
03.06.08
Pinny pucked and pie angled jew cribs. My bestest device. A long fellowed invitation to fetal strength. This clash of cymbals, roar of maniacs and blotted paper strewn across a thousand rooms. Sidewalks bursting in and out of the labyrinth of noon. Flashes of eclipsed obscurity dazzle twisting leaves in the brutal wind. A breath of irony and taste filling volume to maximization. The trinity of sound has never triumphed over the letters of magnitude. This delirium cannot be held to the truth. This engagement can never be vowed to in the course of a brief reconciliation. Outside these walls of God made of brick and earth, there fore lies a Burger King which some fuck shine boy would love to make havoc upon. To lie didactically in his own filth and slime resting upon the pillars of pestilence. I AM GOD, I AM GOD, I AM GOD. I am the one who steals your heart away and does not give it back. I am the one that creates your mind to destroy it. I can weave in and out between the chaotic patterns of time. Ripping and tearing through eternity. A black out of equal importance. The invasion of time whittles to your bones until the flash of denial falls upon the bright eye. A man amongst killers. A brutal rush. The hectic flames. A nuisance in the hour of great speed. We carry on to great lights. In smiles and in terror living in that filth and slime. Content with the chaos. Accepting of the chaos. The chaos reaches its black tongue around the corners of all that weeps rain and offers shelter to everything that lives in armor. A sword for the Christian and the Jew. A sword for the chief and Heath and Marlo. A mirror for the eye of the soul. Destruction is patient in its dark shadow, gliding ever forward through the sludge of society. Falling off of ledges into valleys of kings. Rivers flooding over unto land. Land receding to the chaos. The chaos of the kind night. The chaos of the violent day. The chaos of the invisible void. The void that is prepared to neither punish nor reward. Some look upon this madness in mind riots of their entire existence while some close their eyes and surrender to the void, let it fill their body and take it to the farthest ledge of the universe to spin in eternity upon the brink of brinks. Resting in the peace of the void. The nothingness that contains everything and nothing all at once. A type of truth set out to release the virus of the nothing. And it may be you of all people who denies its substance and leaves one in the cold to burn between the transition of the seasons. For this is a dream within dreams running amok atop the ruins of expression. A tempered fable of dimensions amidst a rising sea covered in starlight. This is where nothing begins and all comes to a final and flashing close, louder than the silence that precedes the waves but still quieter than the death of something sick and rotten meant to not be living, Saved by the desire of thought in action. A powerhouse of the finest form. Litter flows through its desolate regime of abandonment, scars of holes define its land. Marks of treason laid waste unto days of hope and glory definable only by the coldest of ears, half frozen in death half awake in life. Flittering above the liquid for a last voice of reason in a world locked inside cages, clipped, clamped and chumped. The continuation of insanity locked in a fitful force of motion content with the jubilation and the frost of innocence on that one white flower in a field of battle and victory won only in the minds of those fit to count the dead. Here is the true end of the infinite line and it has no reason for its countenance besides its fact of the true domain of the chaos.
Pinny pucked and pie angled jew cribs. My bestest device. A long fellowed invitation to fetal strength. This clash of cymbals, roar of maniacs and blotted paper strewn across a thousand rooms. Sidewalks bursting in and out of the labyrinth of noon. Flashes of eclipsed obscurity dazzle twisting leaves in the brutal wind. A breath of irony and taste filling volume to maximization. The trinity of sound has never triumphed over the letters of magnitude. This delirium cannot be held to the truth. This engagement can never be vowed to in the course of a brief reconciliation. Outside these walls of God made of brick and earth, there fore lies a Burger King which some fuck shine boy would love to make havoc upon. To lie didactically in his own filth and slime resting upon the pillars of pestilence. I AM GOD, I AM GOD, I AM GOD. I am the one who steals your heart away and does not give it back. I am the one that creates your mind to destroy it. I can weave in and out between the chaotic patterns of time. Ripping and tearing through eternity. A black out of equal importance. The invasion of time whittles to your bones until the flash of denial falls upon the bright eye. A man amongst killers. A brutal rush. The hectic flames. A nuisance in the hour of great speed. We carry on to great lights. In smiles and in terror living in that filth and slime. Content with the chaos. Accepting of the chaos. The chaos reaches its black tongue around the corners of all that weeps rain and offers shelter to everything that lives in armor. A sword for the Christian and the Jew. A sword for the chief and Heath and Marlo. A mirror for the eye of the soul. Destruction is patient in its dark shadow, gliding ever forward through the sludge of society. Falling off of ledges into valleys of kings. Rivers flooding over unto land. Land receding to the chaos. The chaos of the kind night. The chaos of the violent day. The chaos of the invisible void. The void that is prepared to neither punish nor reward. Some look upon this madness in mind riots of their entire existence while some close their eyes and surrender to the void, let it fill their body and take it to the farthest ledge of the universe to spin in eternity upon the brink of brinks. Resting in the peace of the void. The nothingness that contains everything and nothing all at once. A type of truth set out to release the virus of the nothing. And it may be you of all people who denies its substance and leaves one in the cold to burn between the transition of the seasons. For this is a dream within dreams running amok atop the ruins of expression. A tempered fable of dimensions amidst a rising sea covered in starlight. This is where nothing begins and all comes to a final and flashing close, louder than the silence that precedes the waves but still quieter than the death of something sick and rotten meant to not be living, Saved by the desire of thought in action. A powerhouse of the finest form. Litter flows through its desolate regime of abandonment, scars of holes define its land. Marks of treason laid waste unto days of hope and glory definable only by the coldest of ears, half frozen in death half awake in life. Flittering above the liquid for a last voice of reason in a world locked inside cages, clipped, clamped and chumped. The continuation of insanity locked in a fitful force of motion content with the jubilation and the frost of innocence on that one white flower in a field of battle and victory won only in the minds of those fit to count the dead. Here is the true end of the infinite line and it has no reason for its countenance besides its fact of the true domain of the chaos.
Venus Is Bleeding
05.18.08
With all the kingdoms in yr fist
This broken scene on the setting sun-
The sky does looks better on four hills
We face the moon with tired gazes drowned in awe-
Our eyes following its twisting free fall to its smashing sphere
The cosmos shake but yr fist is steady
Venus is bleeding and a thousand towers roar
The sun leaking and spilling out toward the stars-
Its killing me, these dark dreams of anarchy and fire.
These dying novels with their pages all burning and turning in the final wind
The moonlit world to walk under the deep darkness
Skeletons in exile rise asunder, each one stumbling in dire straits of ancient thunder
The mortal screams collide in the labyrinth of night
All of it soon to expire. This minute, this hour, at the stroke of fire. Ding!
With all the kingdoms in yr fist
This broken scene on the setting sun-
The sky does looks better on four hills
We face the moon with tired gazes drowned in awe-
Our eyes following its twisting free fall to its smashing sphere
The cosmos shake but yr fist is steady
Venus is bleeding and a thousand towers roar
The sun leaking and spilling out toward the stars-
Its killing me, these dark dreams of anarchy and fire.
These dying novels with their pages all burning and turning in the final wind
The moonlit world to walk under the deep darkness
Skeletons in exile rise asunder, each one stumbling in dire straits of ancient thunder
The mortal screams collide in the labyrinth of night
All of it soon to expire. This minute, this hour, at the stroke of fire. Ding!
The Mad Drift
05.25.08
im feeling you slipping out in the mad drift
alone and afraid, words drowning in your throat
im feeling you biting at the heels of humanities snarls
secret heroes of insane escapades, the warriors of denial
im feeling you climbing the burning trestle; cut from a thousand roses
fall once and you'll fall again
im feeling you grow tired from the machinery of night
the wheels and cranks do expand over the land; they cascade the moon adrift
the appearance of the ancient white satellite crawls the land
shadows of shapes hypnotize the sleeping in the sand
The hazy white galactic light flashes wild on the ruins
The dreaming drift of man dream t of it during noon;
Whispering the brilliant rules of the empire under midnights golden toll
The bells hammer hard in the still air of the spanish romance
the stars call you out so you get in your spaceship out of love
you speed the inky fields of forever; a sleepy prince traveler on a shaky conquest of whatever
though buildings burn and fall and the silhouettes of evil men weave lies of secrets with golden thread
obscene in falling sheets of quiet seas
You'll make your dream for winter in your glassy tomb
Apart from what you do, you'll feel alone
Your silence is overrated;
and there is the room, the start of it all.
im feeling you slipping out in the mad drift
alone and afraid, words drowning in your throat
im feeling you biting at the heels of humanities snarls
secret heroes of insane escapades, the warriors of denial
im feeling you climbing the burning trestle; cut from a thousand roses
fall once and you'll fall again
im feeling you grow tired from the machinery of night
the wheels and cranks do expand over the land; they cascade the moon adrift
the appearance of the ancient white satellite crawls the land
shadows of shapes hypnotize the sleeping in the sand
The hazy white galactic light flashes wild on the ruins
The dreaming drift of man dream t of it during noon;
Whispering the brilliant rules of the empire under midnights golden toll
The bells hammer hard in the still air of the spanish romance
the stars call you out so you get in your spaceship out of love
you speed the inky fields of forever; a sleepy prince traveler on a shaky conquest of whatever
though buildings burn and fall and the silhouettes of evil men weave lies of secrets with golden thread
obscene in falling sheets of quiet seas
You'll make your dream for winter in your glassy tomb
Apart from what you do, you'll feel alone
Your silence is overrated;
and there is the room, the start of it all.
La Facon (The Way)
06.07.08
Beautiful recluse, harbinger of twilights peace
Fearless infidel, sister of the seven seas
Wide eyed fancy and brimming with desire
Dreams of dreams fills yr eyes, fire burns my thin disguise
The billowing lace, the pummeling smoke
Our deadly sins that we should choke
Upon sailboats of evenings clouds near the moon, we shall escape
To kiss the universe goodnight and conceal the keys of fate.
Beautiful recluse, harbinger of twilights peace
Fearless infidel, sister of the seven seas
Wide eyed fancy and brimming with desire
Dreams of dreams fills yr eyes, fire burns my thin disguise
The billowing lace, the pummeling smoke
Our deadly sins that we should choke
Upon sailboats of evenings clouds near the moon, we shall escape
To kiss the universe goodnight and conceal the keys of fate.
Durango
06.16.08
Give us pause fair and whisperant one!
Dreams of the moist and illustrious midnight fields I do dream
And the peppered ink of wasted sky, diamonds of dew
Arc of lightning slices the eternal night!
To me Durango is dead and the road is washed away
The ones who remain are sadly forever to stay
The eternal night is seared in our eyes and the void tunnel of emptiness we grin at in embarrassing pride
I walk along the streets so empty and dead tonight in Durango
The air is light the heavy thoughts fly in wobbling directions of half full pride
Mad horses whine with their moon in their eyes and the sun soon rises in blinding disguise
Out of the shine, the room I am in is just fine.
The mules below walk in line and evening dresses now drape and drown in tired drowse from the Spanish dances and deviances of night last
The moist spurt of the moon drawn down by angels;
Denizens of arboreal avenues they are, birds of heavenly freefall, sunk into the crack of doom by wild arms of thought evading souls
Into the streets I do return to the melancholy tones of some shadowy mirth
Walk away, head down hand in pocket. Grin with dirty sunlight.
Give us pause fair and whisperant one!
Dreams of the moist and illustrious midnight fields I do dream
And the peppered ink of wasted sky, diamonds of dew
Arc of lightning slices the eternal night!
To me Durango is dead and the road is washed away
The ones who remain are sadly forever to stay
The eternal night is seared in our eyes and the void tunnel of emptiness we grin at in embarrassing pride
I walk along the streets so empty and dead tonight in Durango
The air is light the heavy thoughts fly in wobbling directions of half full pride
Mad horses whine with their moon in their eyes and the sun soon rises in blinding disguise
Out of the shine, the room I am in is just fine.
The mules below walk in line and evening dresses now drape and drown in tired drowse from the Spanish dances and deviances of night last
The moist spurt of the moon drawn down by angels;
Denizens of arboreal avenues they are, birds of heavenly freefall, sunk into the crack of doom by wild arms of thought evading souls
Into the streets I do return to the melancholy tones of some shadowy mirth
Walk away, head down hand in pocket. Grin with dirty sunlight.
6/25/08
06.25.08
When we meet again it'll be different
Across the bright golden fields of our spacey dreams
Will come black brigades of icy hurricanes
Down windswept roads of youthful struggle
There will be endless floods; in it the memory of our fortune
And beyond the horizon where the fires of hell burnt in distant fear
The neck of justice will be slashed from ear to ear
The bats that ate our time will fly out into the rolling sky
And I'll follow them
When we meet again it'll be different
Across the bright golden fields of our spacey dreams
Will come black brigades of icy hurricanes
Down windswept roads of youthful struggle
There will be endless floods; in it the memory of our fortune
And beyond the horizon where the fires of hell burnt in distant fear
The neck of justice will be slashed from ear to ear
The bats that ate our time will fly out into the rolling sky
And I'll follow them
A Bold Stitching Colored In Craziness
06.29.08
Silent glass divides our gaze
Everything is in slow motion
I reach my hand to touch it
You do the same
My mouth moves in hypnosis
Your eyes tell me your listening
I slowly move away
I walk as if I'm underwater
Because I have nothing more to say
Because the violence of bloodless companions has withered and faded my soul
Silent glass divides our gaze
Everything is in slow motion
I reach my hand to touch it
You do the same
My mouth moves in hypnosis
Your eyes tell me your listening
I slowly move away
I walk as if I'm underwater
Because I have nothing more to say
Because the violence of bloodless companions has withered and faded my soul
Number 1 (one)
As we all know, many people think in their deep state of delusional thought that America is somehow number one. Americans have been brainwashed, through the media and television that America is without a doubt, number one. Unfortunately for these people, America is not number one. At least not anymore. We are number one in some areas though.
We have 90 guns for every 100 people. Were number one in gun murders. We have over 2.1 million people in prison, so were number one in that. Were number one with military spending. In fact, we spend more on military than the next 14 nations combined. I suppose Soulja Boy and all of our other glorious cultural achievements are worth protecting, right?
But hey, look on the bright side. We have the biggest economy in the world. And god dammit were the most productive. In 2006, each American worker created over 64,000 dollars of wealth. Too bad they had to work more hours and receive less pay and less vacation time than any other industrialized nation.
Speaking of that shit, our distribution of wealth division is similar to that of nations such as Bangladesh and China. So basically in America, especially now, the rich get richer and the poor will get poorer.
07.15.08
Now onto the health department. Our life expectancy is 44th and dropping. American women are 70% more likely to die during child birth than in Europe. The World Health Organization ranks the US 37th in overall health care performance. In the fairness of health care were 54th. So the rich get great health care and everyone else just gets health care.
If you happen to be one of the 42,000,000 Americans without health care, you can follow President Bush's advice and go to the Emergency Room.
America is really number one in nothing but debt, delusion, obesity and war. Americas enemies are not spooky figures like Osama bin Laden and Saddam Hussein.
Our enemies are those who refuse to accept the truth about this country. Those who ignorantly turn away from the mirror and go down on their knees and pray for God to bless America, are in fact, Americas true enemies.
We have 90 guns for every 100 people. Were number one in gun murders. We have over 2.1 million people in prison, so were number one in that. Were number one with military spending. In fact, we spend more on military than the next 14 nations combined. I suppose Soulja Boy and all of our other glorious cultural achievements are worth protecting, right?
But hey, look on the bright side. We have the biggest economy in the world. And god dammit were the most productive. In 2006, each American worker created over 64,000 dollars of wealth. Too bad they had to work more hours and receive less pay and less vacation time than any other industrialized nation.
Speaking of that shit, our distribution of wealth division is similar to that of nations such as Bangladesh and China. So basically in America, especially now, the rich get richer and the poor will get poorer.
07.15.08
Now onto the health department. Our life expectancy is 44th and dropping. American women are 70% more likely to die during child birth than in Europe. The World Health Organization ranks the US 37th in overall health care performance. In the fairness of health care were 54th. So the rich get great health care and everyone else just gets health care.
If you happen to be one of the 42,000,000 Americans without health care, you can follow President Bush's advice and go to the Emergency Room.
America is really number one in nothing but debt, delusion, obesity and war. Americas enemies are not spooky figures like Osama bin Laden and Saddam Hussein.
Our enemies are those who refuse to accept the truth about this country. Those who ignorantly turn away from the mirror and go down on their knees and pray for God to bless America, are in fact, Americas true enemies.
Gay Marriage In America
08.16.08
DISCLAIMER: I am not a homosexual nor am I bisexual. No, I'm not trying to express my manhood or anything stupid like that. I'm just setting the record straight as to those who may think differently and as to show that it's not just homosexuals who are interested in the welfare of homosexuals.
Currently in the United States, two states have recognized gay marriage. As you can tell I don't do intro's. Anyway, those states are California and Massachusetts. If we get rid of these Christian- conservative assholes in this country maybe we'll make some more progress. In fact, Europe is way ahead of America, as usual, on this issue. Belgium, the Netherlands and Spain currently recognize gay marriage and Norway also will in 2009. But practically all other countries in Western Europe at least recognize and allow civil unions and partnerships. Here back in the states however, were still fighting about the significance of fairy tales such as Adam and Eve and other stories invented as political tools thousands of years ago to control primitive people. As usual, it's religion that's holding us back as a society and as a species. Homosexuality is just as beautiful and true as heterosexuality can be. Love is not something that can be defined through laws and political indifference. It is a deep, primal force, a powerful and uncontainable chemical rush. It has not been left to be decided who is to share those feelings. Man and woman, woman and woman or man and man. The connection is beyond thought and beyond God. Homosexuality is beyond debate. It is a normal human bond and denying them the right to marriage is denying them their right to be human.
DISCLAIMER: I am not a homosexual nor am I bisexual. No, I'm not trying to express my manhood or anything stupid like that. I'm just setting the record straight as to those who may think differently and as to show that it's not just homosexuals who are interested in the welfare of homosexuals.
Currently in the United States, two states have recognized gay marriage. As you can tell I don't do intro's. Anyway, those states are California and Massachusetts. If we get rid of these Christian- conservative assholes in this country maybe we'll make some more progress. In fact, Europe is way ahead of America, as usual, on this issue. Belgium, the Netherlands and Spain currently recognize gay marriage and Norway also will in 2009. But practically all other countries in Western Europe at least recognize and allow civil unions and partnerships. Here back in the states however, were still fighting about the significance of fairy tales such as Adam and Eve and other stories invented as political tools thousands of years ago to control primitive people. As usual, it's religion that's holding us back as a society and as a species. Homosexuality is just as beautiful and true as heterosexuality can be. Love is not something that can be defined through laws and political indifference. It is a deep, primal force, a powerful and uncontainable chemical rush. It has not been left to be decided who is to share those feelings. Man and woman, woman and woman or man and man. The connection is beyond thought and beyond God. Homosexuality is beyond debate. It is a normal human bond and denying them the right to marriage is denying them their right to be human.
The GOP Dilemma
09.02.08
In recent years as many American citizens are aware, the Republican party has single- handedly violated the American constitution and destroyed the fundamental values and integrity of a nation. Now as this party gathers in St. Paul, MN., we are expected to "bite their bait" once again, we are expected to follow the judgment of a senile man and an inexperienced governor as our VP. Who do these people think they are? Who do they think we are? Admittedly however, George W. Bush is not the best definition of someone who represents the Republican party. I agree with many of the party's philosophies such as reduction of federal government, increased responsibility to state and local government etc. I also STRONGLY disagree with many of their philosophies. Although in reality the party rarely or has never lived up to any of these ideals and in retrospective we have seen the state of the nation deteriorate under Republican leadership. I do not however, align myself with any ideologies. I prefer to stand back and watch as it all goes down. The bottom line is that the American people no longer can trust Republicans. If we re-elect one, especially with what the Republican party has done to this country through the past eight years, we are truly a nation of the blind, a nation of puppets. A nation like that deserves nothing.
In recent years as many American citizens are aware, the Republican party has single- handedly violated the American constitution and destroyed the fundamental values and integrity of a nation. Now as this party gathers in St. Paul, MN., we are expected to "bite their bait" once again, we are expected to follow the judgment of a senile man and an inexperienced governor as our VP. Who do these people think they are? Who do they think we are? Admittedly however, George W. Bush is not the best definition of someone who represents the Republican party. I agree with many of the party's philosophies such as reduction of federal government, increased responsibility to state and local government etc. I also STRONGLY disagree with many of their philosophies. Although in reality the party rarely or has never lived up to any of these ideals and in retrospective we have seen the state of the nation deteriorate under Republican leadership. I do not however, align myself with any ideologies. I prefer to stand back and watch as it all goes down. The bottom line is that the American people no longer can trust Republicans. If we re-elect one, especially with what the Republican party has done to this country through the past eight years, we are truly a nation of the blind, a nation of puppets. A nation like that deserves nothing.
Bare Trees
09.07.08
I end up then in the early light, and walk underneath arcs of ice and lay down on sheets of moving air. This crisp cold morn. smells of sunken watermelon and the lament of unproven prophecies. Under golden arches of arboreal grand boulevards I scuff or walk. Into the crowd ahead with all the bombers in bed then I look up a bit. The blast is true as the sun breaks the clouds and the movement scatters as light across violent purple water. I duck into the doorway of ruin and leave at the slight hint of pepper. It's where I come from that seeps the ever rising flood of nothing and my hands bleed from buildin up on the levee. And so with my spangled stars of vacuumed thought I talk to an Arab who walks with a cane. Talkin bout the dream. Talkin' bout the dream and how you've got to keep dreaming it even when you wake up. An imposs'ble ritual of silence that calls out our names. Who'd be crazy enough to play the game, to walk straight out into the storm with just shoes on. The look in the Arabs eyes is as if he'd walked a thousand miles to get to that very spot. He walks away and I see that his shoes are filled with blood. His own. A brass wind blows down from the sky as I turn my head to the rim of the expressionless towers. A scraggly sea of leaves falls to the street. And they shake and they twist before they hit. They hit my shoes and my head. They create a whirlpool above the manhole and the trees light up along the boulevard forever and ever in the distance as far as there are trees. There's something in the way around here. It can't be seen or heard. It just follows me and it never stops. Behind me I hear a loud thud. Breath stops. I turn round with a weak and unbelievable smile t' see. I just jumped out of the window. Everyone kinda just walks by.
I end up then in the early light, and walk underneath arcs of ice and lay down on sheets of moving air. This crisp cold morn. smells of sunken watermelon and the lament of unproven prophecies. Under golden arches of arboreal grand boulevards I scuff or walk. Into the crowd ahead with all the bombers in bed then I look up a bit. The blast is true as the sun breaks the clouds and the movement scatters as light across violent purple water. I duck into the doorway of ruin and leave at the slight hint of pepper. It's where I come from that seeps the ever rising flood of nothing and my hands bleed from buildin up on the levee. And so with my spangled stars of vacuumed thought I talk to an Arab who walks with a cane. Talkin bout the dream. Talkin' bout the dream and how you've got to keep dreaming it even when you wake up. An imposs'ble ritual of silence that calls out our names. Who'd be crazy enough to play the game, to walk straight out into the storm with just shoes on. The look in the Arabs eyes is as if he'd walked a thousand miles to get to that very spot. He walks away and I see that his shoes are filled with blood. His own. A brass wind blows down from the sky as I turn my head to the rim of the expressionless towers. A scraggly sea of leaves falls to the street. And they shake and they twist before they hit. They hit my shoes and my head. They create a whirlpool above the manhole and the trees light up along the boulevard forever and ever in the distance as far as there are trees. There's something in the way around here. It can't be seen or heard. It just follows me and it never stops. Behind me I hear a loud thud. Breath stops. I turn round with a weak and unbelievable smile t' see. I just jumped out of the window. Everyone kinda just walks by.
Skam
9.23.08
This is not a joke. This actually happened. It took a lot of courage and self- persuasion to publicly post this incident, but I did it in the best interest of the citizens of America, or at least the ones on Facebook.
-Today around 1pm I went to get gas (mid-grade) to fill up my Explorer at the Cenex station on the corner by Cedar Creek Mall ( a painful experience in and of itself). I filled up, walked inside the station, paid and then walked out. Pretty routine.
-As I walked out of the station, a man in a white Chevy Trailblazer with Minnesota plates asked me to come over by him. Thinking he was going to ask me for directions, I walked over to the vehicle. He asked me if I was interested in purchasing some home audio speakers.
-He got out of the SUV, opened the rear hatch and proceeded to show me these boxes of speakers. His "colleague" came out of the station and sat in the passenger seat. He claimed that he was on a delivery and he had an overstock of these speakers which are of the DiVinci brand, and that if he didn't get rid of them, his boss would be upset and would most likely end up taking them.
-Seeing as they both looked very professional and seemed legitimate, I extended my exposure to the bullshit stories they were telling.
-They claimed these speaker systems are worth in excess of $2500.00 (they're actually worth at the most about 130.00, maybe), but since they were so adamant on getting rid of their overstock, they were willing to go down to 5 or 600 dollars. I said no, I'm really not interested, but in my youthful ignorance they're art of skillful deception had me hook, line and sinker.
-I thought I was getting an amazing deal, so I said the highest I would go is $250.00. The con man acted as if he was disappointed but agreed to my set price. The passenger seat man put the box in my car and they followed me to my house where I walked over to their SUV, and they said they want 300.00 so they can make an equal split. I agreed for some reason. I walked into the house, came out with the 300.00, gave it to them and they drove off into the afternoon sun. Upon leaving they told me that next time we meet, I of all people, owe them a beer. Well, next time we meet they're getting a pen jammed into their fucking necks.
-So.... I take the boxes into my house thinking that I got a good deal on high end audio equipment. (yes, I know I'm an idiot). Being slightly suspect of what just occurred, I proceeded to open my laptop and search for the DiVinci speakers I had just purchased. I then became aware of the "white van scam" that I had just fallen victim to and I honestly felt like a fool. Now I have these big ass speakers sitting in my room which are constructed like shit. I took solace with my fellow victims who were persuaded into deceit which helped with the assuagement of my own guilt.
- I'll be back at Cenex tomorrow, waiting, waiting to make them bow down to me in pools of their own worthless blood.
-I was completely and fully scammed in every sense of the word. I don't know what kind of instinctive, physiological powers got the best of me, but they did. I came away weak minded and selfish, and it was a $300.00 learning experience that hopefully, nobody else has to pay.
IN ADDITION to that spiel, I plan on turning it into a positive experience, kind of like a rape victim, by using the event as a performance in my Speech class on how to avoid consumer scams such as the one I fell victim to.
P.S If anybody is interested in these HD speakers (they do work and have a OK sound quality) hit me up. They're free.
SPECS: 5' tall, real wood believe it or not, nice LOOKING, greatly enhance ordinary TV speakers) They are manufactured by a legit company but they were sold by scam artists.
This is not a joke. This actually happened. It took a lot of courage and self- persuasion to publicly post this incident, but I did it in the best interest of the citizens of America, or at least the ones on Facebook.
-Today around 1pm I went to get gas (mid-grade) to fill up my Explorer at the Cenex station on the corner by Cedar Creek Mall ( a painful experience in and of itself). I filled up, walked inside the station, paid and then walked out. Pretty routine.
-As I walked out of the station, a man in a white Chevy Trailblazer with Minnesota plates asked me to come over by him. Thinking he was going to ask me for directions, I walked over to the vehicle. He asked me if I was interested in purchasing some home audio speakers.
-He got out of the SUV, opened the rear hatch and proceeded to show me these boxes of speakers. His "colleague" came out of the station and sat in the passenger seat. He claimed that he was on a delivery and he had an overstock of these speakers which are of the DiVinci brand, and that if he didn't get rid of them, his boss would be upset and would most likely end up taking them.
-Seeing as they both looked very professional and seemed legitimate, I extended my exposure to the bullshit stories they were telling.
-They claimed these speaker systems are worth in excess of $2500.00 (they're actually worth at the most about 130.00, maybe), but since they were so adamant on getting rid of their overstock, they were willing to go down to 5 or 600 dollars. I said no, I'm really not interested, but in my youthful ignorance they're art of skillful deception had me hook, line and sinker.
-I thought I was getting an amazing deal, so I said the highest I would go is $250.00. The con man acted as if he was disappointed but agreed to my set price. The passenger seat man put the box in my car and they followed me to my house where I walked over to their SUV, and they said they want 300.00 so they can make an equal split. I agreed for some reason. I walked into the house, came out with the 300.00, gave it to them and they drove off into the afternoon sun. Upon leaving they told me that next time we meet, I of all people, owe them a beer. Well, next time we meet they're getting a pen jammed into their fucking necks.
-So.... I take the boxes into my house thinking that I got a good deal on high end audio equipment. (yes, I know I'm an idiot). Being slightly suspect of what just occurred, I proceeded to open my laptop and search for the DiVinci speakers I had just purchased. I then became aware of the "white van scam" that I had just fallen victim to and I honestly felt like a fool. Now I have these big ass speakers sitting in my room which are constructed like shit. I took solace with my fellow victims who were persuaded into deceit which helped with the assuagement of my own guilt.
- I'll be back at Cenex tomorrow, waiting, waiting to make them bow down to me in pools of their own worthless blood.
-I was completely and fully scammed in every sense of the word. I don't know what kind of instinctive, physiological powers got the best of me, but they did. I came away weak minded and selfish, and it was a $300.00 learning experience that hopefully, nobody else has to pay.
IN ADDITION to that spiel, I plan on turning it into a positive experience, kind of like a rape victim, by using the event as a performance in my Speech class on how to avoid consumer scams such as the one I fell victim to.
P.S If anybody is interested in these HD speakers (they do work and have a OK sound quality) hit me up. They're free.
SPECS: 5' tall, real wood believe it or not, nice LOOKING, greatly enhance ordinary TV speakers) They are manufactured by a legit company but they were sold by scam artists.
123.123.123.123
9.28.08
I used to think all things partic'pated in the vast sum of knowledge. Lookin' at the black night out my window and the silence it breathes reminds me of the illusion of knowledge. How it can kill or how it can bring immeasurable pleasure. How I could use it. But I stop and look down at the floor for a moment and everything that I run from is silent, and will be afterward.
I used to think all things partic'pated in the vast sum of knowledge. Lookin' at the black night out my window and the silence it breathes reminds me of the illusion of knowledge. How it can kill or how it can bring immeasurable pleasure. How I could use it. But I stop and look down at the floor for a moment and everything that I run from is silent, and will be afterward.
Starting Now and Starting Forever
10.04.08
I watched countless folk walk into traps and fall down deep into the groove. They spin and they spin when the sun comes out and dream of a rising moon. If I could I surely would devise a way to win however many paths of sin, I'll walk each one with a fertile defiance. Flat out in the gardens of the university and the prison through the effervescent smokescreens of burning books are loveless madmen who rage at the sidewalk and careen through their blank infinity like a falling spaceship, they do, they do, I saw them all and will again. Their dreams, their cocks and books are all my treasures spent. I dream in a corner dark and diluted with cranium amnesia times 4. I saw it all, all of it in the beauty of forfeit which hangs over me upon the jaded lunar fields I crawl. But then I dream once more and I'm on quite unfrankly, an endless shore. The sun is setting and there's a silhouette on the blowing grassy plains near the sea, picking up shells that just arrived from the coast. I don't know who she is but she's there and I am there. I am longer no a wayward tower that sits to guard my fear but a gate and holy portal shining in front of who's really there. A violet soul is emitting light, the mirror sea reflects to the heavens free, inside is a burning golden leaf with 7 sides upon it. I will grab and forever hold it starting now and starting forever.
I watched countless folk walk into traps and fall down deep into the groove. They spin and they spin when the sun comes out and dream of a rising moon. If I could I surely would devise a way to win however many paths of sin, I'll walk each one with a fertile defiance. Flat out in the gardens of the university and the prison through the effervescent smokescreens of burning books are loveless madmen who rage at the sidewalk and careen through their blank infinity like a falling spaceship, they do, they do, I saw them all and will again. Their dreams, their cocks and books are all my treasures spent. I dream in a corner dark and diluted with cranium amnesia times 4. I saw it all, all of it in the beauty of forfeit which hangs over me upon the jaded lunar fields I crawl. But then I dream once more and I'm on quite unfrankly, an endless shore. The sun is setting and there's a silhouette on the blowing grassy plains near the sea, picking up shells that just arrived from the coast. I don't know who she is but she's there and I am there. I am longer no a wayward tower that sits to guard my fear but a gate and holy portal shining in front of who's really there. A violet soul is emitting light, the mirror sea reflects to the heavens free, inside is a burning golden leaf with 7 sides upon it. I will grab and forever hold it starting now and starting forever.
Religion, Life, and Death (My own cellar door)
10.18.08
Seeing that I'm listening to Dylan's 1963 record The Freewheelin, pissed off and being anally raped by the dark vestiges of societies cliches, I'm going to express my tried and true brand of cynicism through the shattered prism of our proud language.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Religion, life, and death. Words used to the point of exhaustion every day in our lives. Words that have come to mean practically nothing besides the fear and ignorance which lies behind them. It never fails to amaze me, to startle my waking mind, the sheer ignorance and veritable enslavement that has cast its shadow over a once golden land. The surface of our society as gleaming and hazy as it is in the night streets is only a thin layer of what constitutes reality. Just below this surface of corporate control and mass consumerism is the paranoid truth which this layer is built to cover. The one's in control. The corporations have turned this society into a shopping mall. They have taken a land of people with so much possibility. People with the ideals of free existence and a land as wide as their imaginations and put up a Burger King and Wal- Mart instead. Now, the truth you ask? One may be hard pressed to define the truth outside of Hollister bags and heated leather seats. But now that your ass is warm and ready to get back to getting fucked by the long dick of society lets discover.There are two kinds of truths I have identified. The truth of humanity and the truth of nature or the universe. Delving into the truths of humanity is like descending a spiral staircase into a basement of demons. People are starving, not just in Africa but in the apartment above you. People are crying. Not just at pain but at the service of a fallen soldier in a blind mission of war. People are moving to the streets. Not to find friends but to find a place to live on this planet. People are sighing. Not after laughing but after working a dull and meaningless job for maniacal ends. You won't find any of that on your milk carton. At the end of the day the 3500' sq. ft house and the SUV/lunar excursion module just aren't making you happy. People see a dead fish wash up on shore, kick at it and ask, "why isn't it swimming?" Humanity is living far below what it could be mainly due to the stranglehold that the fucking asshole corporations have on us. They employ us, they feed us with their poisonous grime, they tell us to go worship our mindless ideologies on Sunday, then go out to eat afterwords at the restaurant where the waitress who raises 4 kids alone just gets by.They tell us to keep working so we can keep buying their shit that they sell to who else but US! It is a vicious and horrible cycle. But it is the way of the world. If you don't get on this hellish carousel you'll more than likely fall under the surface of this pretty world of lights and shops into that world of truth. Very few people who witness this chaos of "reality" can stay in it for long. Very few who fall below ever get out and build their own world. Those who do rise back up from the dead, wander the streets at 2am like a gleaming madman, an archbishop of existence with a can of juice and sweet rotten freedom just at their heels. You know them when you see them. They exist for the soul. They are the living embodiment of the human spirit. They have beat the system. They live in enemy territory but know no boundaries. They know that friend and foe is not a matter of where you come from, but how you come from it. I speak of them softly, but I do it with every fiber in my body. We all live in either the mindless consumer world or the world below it where truth can be enlightening or downright brutal. Some are on there way up, some on there way down. We all live under the constant rules that the universe has bestowed upon the Earth and us as a species. We rarely follow these rules however. And we all know if you don't follow rules, you get in trouble. I think you know what I'm talking about. Then comes death. The finish line of our lives. Some race toward it in glee, most scowl their faces at its approach and dig their heels into the ground. Some of the reluctant lead miserable and blind lives, you'd think they'd accept it and welcome it. Is there one more episode of Desperate Housewives on they can't miss? Is there a sale next week at Sears? Is it their fear of losing the ones they love? What is the fear? It is the fear of unknowing. That is why we invented religion, to give ourselves the answers. The blind will lead the blind, even to the gates of death it seems. Their only a pawn in their game. Maybe they've lived so long under the lull of humanity that meeting mortality on such a clear and looming level is a shock to their system. Maybe if there was a Wal-Mart with a Burger King in death everything would be OK. And then again, maybe God is a dildo salesman. It is indeed a strange thing to exist, there is so much that is false, that is misleading, so much that so many live in some kind of darkness. It is so easy to get swept up in the blind arguments and meaningless issues of the today that we lose sight of the face of eternity. We lose our perspective and gain egos and disorders and fall into a cycle of commercialism that the corporate controllers of our society have built as a trap. They have preyed upon our loss of selves, our loss of truth and all that I've spoken of.
I have spoken harshly much of this but I believe in my heart and soul it is the truth of our existence. In this world there is beauty. Beauty on a level so blessed and divine it brings men with guns to their shaking knee. I intend to find that beauty and all those who seek it.
Seeing that I'm listening to Dylan's 1963 record The Freewheelin, pissed off and being anally raped by the dark vestiges of societies cliches, I'm going to express my tried and true brand of cynicism through the shattered prism of our proud language.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Religion, life, and death. Words used to the point of exhaustion every day in our lives. Words that have come to mean practically nothing besides the fear and ignorance which lies behind them. It never fails to amaze me, to startle my waking mind, the sheer ignorance and veritable enslavement that has cast its shadow over a once golden land. The surface of our society as gleaming and hazy as it is in the night streets is only a thin layer of what constitutes reality. Just below this surface of corporate control and mass consumerism is the paranoid truth which this layer is built to cover. The one's in control. The corporations have turned this society into a shopping mall. They have taken a land of people with so much possibility. People with the ideals of free existence and a land as wide as their imaginations and put up a Burger King and Wal- Mart instead. Now, the truth you ask? One may be hard pressed to define the truth outside of Hollister bags and heated leather seats. But now that your ass is warm and ready to get back to getting fucked by the long dick of society lets discover.There are two kinds of truths I have identified. The truth of humanity and the truth of nature or the universe. Delving into the truths of humanity is like descending a spiral staircase into a basement of demons. People are starving, not just in Africa but in the apartment above you. People are crying. Not just at pain but at the service of a fallen soldier in a blind mission of war. People are moving to the streets. Not to find friends but to find a place to live on this planet. People are sighing. Not after laughing but after working a dull and meaningless job for maniacal ends. You won't find any of that on your milk carton. At the end of the day the 3500' sq. ft house and the SUV/lunar excursion module just aren't making you happy. People see a dead fish wash up on shore, kick at it and ask, "why isn't it swimming?" Humanity is living far below what it could be mainly due to the stranglehold that the fucking asshole corporations have on us. They employ us, they feed us with their poisonous grime, they tell us to go worship our mindless ideologies on Sunday, then go out to eat afterwords at the restaurant where the waitress who raises 4 kids alone just gets by.They tell us to keep working so we can keep buying their shit that they sell to who else but US! It is a vicious and horrible cycle. But it is the way of the world. If you don't get on this hellish carousel you'll more than likely fall under the surface of this pretty world of lights and shops into that world of truth. Very few people who witness this chaos of "reality" can stay in it for long. Very few who fall below ever get out and build their own world. Those who do rise back up from the dead, wander the streets at 2am like a gleaming madman, an archbishop of existence with a can of juice and sweet rotten freedom just at their heels. You know them when you see them. They exist for the soul. They are the living embodiment of the human spirit. They have beat the system. They live in enemy territory but know no boundaries. They know that friend and foe is not a matter of where you come from, but how you come from it. I speak of them softly, but I do it with every fiber in my body. We all live in either the mindless consumer world or the world below it where truth can be enlightening or downright brutal. Some are on there way up, some on there way down. We all live under the constant rules that the universe has bestowed upon the Earth and us as a species. We rarely follow these rules however. And we all know if you don't follow rules, you get in trouble. I think you know what I'm talking about. Then comes death. The finish line of our lives. Some race toward it in glee, most scowl their faces at its approach and dig their heels into the ground. Some of the reluctant lead miserable and blind lives, you'd think they'd accept it and welcome it. Is there one more episode of Desperate Housewives on they can't miss? Is there a sale next week at Sears? Is it their fear of losing the ones they love? What is the fear? It is the fear of unknowing. That is why we invented religion, to give ourselves the answers. The blind will lead the blind, even to the gates of death it seems. Their only a pawn in their game. Maybe they've lived so long under the lull of humanity that meeting mortality on such a clear and looming level is a shock to their system. Maybe if there was a Wal-Mart with a Burger King in death everything would be OK. And then again, maybe God is a dildo salesman. It is indeed a strange thing to exist, there is so much that is false, that is misleading, so much that so many live in some kind of darkness. It is so easy to get swept up in the blind arguments and meaningless issues of the today that we lose sight of the face of eternity. We lose our perspective and gain egos and disorders and fall into a cycle of commercialism that the corporate controllers of our society have built as a trap. They have preyed upon our loss of selves, our loss of truth and all that I've spoken of.
I have spoken harshly much of this but I believe in my heart and soul it is the truth of our existence. In this world there is beauty. Beauty on a level so blessed and divine it brings men with guns to their shaking knee. I intend to find that beauty and all those who seek it.
Money to Madness to Peace
10.21.08
I'm out on the docks throwing money into the water like casting my chance to natures grimace. Or at least I'm envisioning it. I notice that after I've thrown what seems to be hundreds of dollars into this water, I haven't really changed. The money kind of floats off into the distance, silhouetted of course by the pale moon. At times a sick instinct, almost primal, wants me to go and swim to it. But in my educated guile, I sit still, a gargoyle perched on the shore of competence and well versed in bubonic plagues. My money floats away as my esoteric beauty of the sweeping night floats into my mind. A small smile streaks my lips. Someone is dancing out along the shore by the trees. They're casting shadows which are punching holes in the ragged remnants of light. A fire is burning across the water and black figures accompany it's licks and desperate sparks. Who are these distant shadows? Where have they come from?, where are they going?, do they need me? I grab my credit cards and identification along with my wallet and toss it into the liquid blackness. The water absorbs it almost reluctantly. A nearby light flickers on and casts an orange hue across the vague outline of natural law. My skin is washed in orange, my eyes must glow like crying spirits do, the stars are so large in the sky I can almost hear them burning. Without this money, these collective units of green that admit acquisition, I am free. The hum of the night is louder than ever. I am cut off from society. I am of no use with these empty pockets. I have melded into the archaic sonic stream of time, I have blistered the fog with my forceful stare of survival. But most importantly, I have been thrown back into the rollicking flood of painless evolution. I walk to the end of these broken docks and not only do I jump in to this water, I become it. My mind melts into the mellifluous ebb and flow of wisdom's fortune, the melodious splashes I make, I'm in a time exposure, my existence has warped and the colors of my mind tantalize my skipping, speeding soul. My soul my soul my soul. MY SOUL. Here it is at last. It's boiling in the rushing rivers of my blood, the water is empty, my soul is smashing through my skeleton in blasts of ecstasy and euphoric heaven. Golden spirals of haze are invading my sight, I have been cleared of the earwax of apathy. I have arrived. This is the level of existence I have hunted for. Hunted and tracked through wilting fields of frosting flowers and dark, cold streets where chaos reigns. The universe and time are not chaotic. They are the essence of everything. Of you, of me, of our paths together that diverge and cross all around. Everything here is silent, waiting to be awoken by venturous humans with their glowing auras of gentle patience. No mans land was conquered long before my time and a river of hope runs through it. It's all out there for you, for me, for whatever reason it is. Just listen.
I'm out on the docks throwing money into the water like casting my chance to natures grimace. Or at least I'm envisioning it. I notice that after I've thrown what seems to be hundreds of dollars into this water, I haven't really changed. The money kind of floats off into the distance, silhouetted of course by the pale moon. At times a sick instinct, almost primal, wants me to go and swim to it. But in my educated guile, I sit still, a gargoyle perched on the shore of competence and well versed in bubonic plagues. My money floats away as my esoteric beauty of the sweeping night floats into my mind. A small smile streaks my lips. Someone is dancing out along the shore by the trees. They're casting shadows which are punching holes in the ragged remnants of light. A fire is burning across the water and black figures accompany it's licks and desperate sparks. Who are these distant shadows? Where have they come from?, where are they going?, do they need me? I grab my credit cards and identification along with my wallet and toss it into the liquid blackness. The water absorbs it almost reluctantly. A nearby light flickers on and casts an orange hue across the vague outline of natural law. My skin is washed in orange, my eyes must glow like crying spirits do, the stars are so large in the sky I can almost hear them burning. Without this money, these collective units of green that admit acquisition, I am free. The hum of the night is louder than ever. I am cut off from society. I am of no use with these empty pockets. I have melded into the archaic sonic stream of time, I have blistered the fog with my forceful stare of survival. But most importantly, I have been thrown back into the rollicking flood of painless evolution. I walk to the end of these broken docks and not only do I jump in to this water, I become it. My mind melts into the mellifluous ebb and flow of wisdom's fortune, the melodious splashes I make, I'm in a time exposure, my existence has warped and the colors of my mind tantalize my skipping, speeding soul. My soul my soul my soul. MY SOUL. Here it is at last. It's boiling in the rushing rivers of my blood, the water is empty, my soul is smashing through my skeleton in blasts of ecstasy and euphoric heaven. Golden spirals of haze are invading my sight, I have been cleared of the earwax of apathy. I have arrived. This is the level of existence I have hunted for. Hunted and tracked through wilting fields of frosting flowers and dark, cold streets where chaos reigns. The universe and time are not chaotic. They are the essence of everything. Of you, of me, of our paths together that diverge and cross all around. Everything here is silent, waiting to be awoken by venturous humans with their glowing auras of gentle patience. No mans land was conquered long before my time and a river of hope runs through it. It's all out there for you, for me, for whatever reason it is. Just listen.
Thoughts On The Election
10.22.08
With only 13 days left to go in this unprecedentedly historic election, the differences between Sens. McCain and Obama are becoming ever more brilliant. In recent days politicians from the right side of the fence have made absurd and desperate remarks. Just last week we've had a slew of 'anti American' accusation from Sarah Palin (R-AK) and Michelle Bachmann (R-MN). Bachmann purported that some Americans may be anti- American. The comment was eerily similar to Palin's comment about some parts of America being more inherently 'American' than other parts. However, this does not surprise me. It doesn't shock me. It's what I've come to expect from the Republican party. The Republicans will always haul out the smear tactics at the end of elections when their bullshit hits the fan. Unfortunately, many of the American's who are witness to these false accusations and laughable stories are rather incapable of thinking for themselves and are easily swayed. The sheeple decided our election in 2004, didn't they? But it's not their fault. They live in a society that discourages free thinking and individualism. They've been fed the doctrine from the moment they were born. They never got it out of their system. But I digress. We the people, we the freedom mongerers have to turn them to the direction of truth, the direction of change which favors the direction of Barack Obama. Now as we all know, Obama has been the target of some ruthless tomfoolery lately. Bill Ayers, ACORN, and the list goes on. But while the Republicans are trying to get their big red, white and blue dick up the American voters ass, perhaps we should question McCain's affiliation with Bush. His affiliation with the party that has negatively vanquished this nation the last eight and God awful years. I don't understand the Republican party. They do not stand up for the American people. Has that not become apparent yet? The majority of the Republican base are interested in their money, their rich friends money and their rich friends friends money. History has proven it, and if we elect McCain, it will be proven again. Words are cheap as George W. Bush knows all too well. We need Barack Obama. He is the man of the hour. The clock is ticking, the battle is being fought as the hand of the clock swings through light and through day. When the dust settles, the winner will be standing and he will bear the colors of freedom and the promise of change. The foolish will be silenced and the testimony of a new era will tower above our most seething adversity.
With only 13 days left to go in this unprecedentedly historic election, the differences between Sens. McCain and Obama are becoming ever more brilliant. In recent days politicians from the right side of the fence have made absurd and desperate remarks. Just last week we've had a slew of 'anti American' accusation from Sarah Palin (R-AK) and Michelle Bachmann (R-MN). Bachmann purported that some Americans may be anti- American. The comment was eerily similar to Palin's comment about some parts of America being more inherently 'American' than other parts. However, this does not surprise me. It doesn't shock me. It's what I've come to expect from the Republican party. The Republicans will always haul out the smear tactics at the end of elections when their bullshit hits the fan. Unfortunately, many of the American's who are witness to these false accusations and laughable stories are rather incapable of thinking for themselves and are easily swayed. The sheeple decided our election in 2004, didn't they? But it's not their fault. They live in a society that discourages free thinking and individualism. They've been fed the doctrine from the moment they were born. They never got it out of their system. But I digress. We the people, we the freedom mongerers have to turn them to the direction of truth, the direction of change which favors the direction of Barack Obama. Now as we all know, Obama has been the target of some ruthless tomfoolery lately. Bill Ayers, ACORN, and the list goes on. But while the Republicans are trying to get their big red, white and blue dick up the American voters ass, perhaps we should question McCain's affiliation with Bush. His affiliation with the party that has negatively vanquished this nation the last eight and God awful years. I don't understand the Republican party. They do not stand up for the American people. Has that not become apparent yet? The majority of the Republican base are interested in their money, their rich friends money and their rich friends friends money. History has proven it, and if we elect McCain, it will be proven again. Words are cheap as George W. Bush knows all too well. We need Barack Obama. He is the man of the hour. The clock is ticking, the battle is being fought as the hand of the clock swings through light and through day. When the dust settles, the winner will be standing and he will bear the colors of freedom and the promise of change. The foolish will be silenced and the testimony of a new era will tower above our most seething adversity.
People I Can Do Without Part I
10.24.08
1. Old obese men who wear conductors hats
2. People who reenact the civil war
3. People who use copious amounts of mayonaise on their food and leave it dripping from their lip
4. Gun enthusiasts
5. People with confederate flags in their truck
6. Guys who wear Hollister apparel
7. People with a Prius that has a 'Think Green' sticker on it in which they believe the act of driving a Prius with that sticker makes them an environmentalist.
8. Black people who tan
9. People who wear 'gangster apparel'
10. Two words. Christian conservatives.
11. Ugly girls who wear big sunglasses
12. Guys who wear Tinkerbell shirts.
13. People with elaborate home theaters with actual theater seats
14. Fat girls who wear shirts exposing their unpleasant girth.
15. People who laugh when you say something that IS NOT FUNNY!!!!
1. Old obese men who wear conductors hats
2. People who reenact the civil war
3. People who use copious amounts of mayonaise on their food and leave it dripping from their lip
4. Gun enthusiasts
5. People with confederate flags in their truck
6. Guys who wear Hollister apparel
7. People with a Prius that has a 'Think Green' sticker on it in which they believe the act of driving a Prius with that sticker makes them an environmentalist.
8. Black people who tan
9. People who wear 'gangster apparel'
10. Two words. Christian conservatives.
11. Ugly girls who wear big sunglasses
12. Guys who wear Tinkerbell shirts.
13. People with elaborate home theaters with actual theater seats
14. Fat girls who wear shirts exposing their unpleasant girth.
15. People who laugh when you say something that IS NOT FUNNY!!!!
Thoughts On The Nature Of Truth
10.27.08
Truth is a wounded battalion of words, immortal under the silent mysteries of the sun, unknown if its theories are recognized by the forces of the universe. We embrace them nonetheless, we are so bold, we are so brazen. Humanities brief performance on the stage of eternity has produced some great acts indeed. Why we exist at all is a mystery in which the keys dangle far out of reach. The secrets are all locked somewhere far away in a tantalizing void. All we can do in our state of constant misunderstanding is determine our outcomes by the roll of dice or the drop of a head. The order of this eternity has us firmly in its grasp, the more we kick and scream the harder it will grab. We build our world through the vision of what those invisible forces have endowed us with. We embrace them with freedom of doubt for to exist in freedom, to color the darkness of primal birth in a flourish of palettes, is truly what it means to be human. That is an idea we must all never lose sight of, for it is the only vision that is truly a denizen of our own conscious creation.
Truth is a wounded battalion of words, immortal under the silent mysteries of the sun, unknown if its theories are recognized by the forces of the universe. We embrace them nonetheless, we are so bold, we are so brazen. Humanities brief performance on the stage of eternity has produced some great acts indeed. Why we exist at all is a mystery in which the keys dangle far out of reach. The secrets are all locked somewhere far away in a tantalizing void. All we can do in our state of constant misunderstanding is determine our outcomes by the roll of dice or the drop of a head. The order of this eternity has us firmly in its grasp, the more we kick and scream the harder it will grab. We build our world through the vision of what those invisible forces have endowed us with. We embrace them with freedom of doubt for to exist in freedom, to color the darkness of primal birth in a flourish of palettes, is truly what it means to be human. That is an idea we must all never lose sight of, for it is the only vision that is truly a denizen of our own conscious creation.
The Fundamentals Of Our Struggle
10.27.08
In a nation as diverse and wildly drastic as our own, the minds of the people who walk its land define the course of its future. From the moment the Declaration of Independence and constitution were drafted by the political and philosophical geniuses of our archaic birth, we have struggled to define as the times change, how our struggles and times correlate with a 200 year old document under a case of glass. Surely the founding fathers of this country had no way of implying to future generations the threats of terrorism or data protection and all the other issues that supersede the ones of the 18th century. Our ceaseless arguments over the valididity and relevance of the constitution seem to create a fog, that at times, clouds our judgment in the most vital hours. There is no doubt in my mind that in this nation, we are capable of recognizing and preserving the values and moral codes that serve as a beacon of light for coming generations. As all the decades passed and different ideologies materialized out of the minds of different leaders, our perceptions of our original intentions seemed to be viewed more and more through an opaque window that emphasized exceptions. We have at times, violated our constitution to the point of destruction, at times it may have well burned along with the madmen who crinkled its pages. Now I am by no means a strict constitutionalist who believes that every word of the document must be taken for face value. We live in a radically different era than that of Adams, Jefferson, and Madison. We do, however, need to take those fundamental expressions of our way of life in the constituion, and use them as our own guide to the issues of today that threaten to corrode our liberties and spirit of existence. Deep inside, we all have our own Declaration of Indendence forged by our own experiences and passions. Is it ethically possible for us as a society to apply these ideals that live within us to the future of our nation? Can we somehow cross check all of our values with the strict code of political bedrock? Can we even consider this in a nation so diverse as our own? How can a country that has no real and actual majority coexist on a level that preserves something as righteous and politcally perpetual as a constitution? It would seem almost plausible to believe that a nation in which the fabric of its creation is tearing and through it a whole new world is exploding, that this nation could stand together. Our diversity is becoming more and more mixed with each decade. We are a microcosm of the entire world, therefore we must learn to exist as an entire world would and does. The complexity of this paradox is baffling to say the least. It is no mistake however that our constitution would still be relevant in a nation like this. The constitution is merely a guide to what are now considered basic human rights to many people and the basis that any serious country is founded upon. With no religious doctrines to be instilled and no ideologies to be pressed upon the people wholly, this future microcosm of the world should have no struggle in holding the torch of democracy once more. The American system is one that demands respect in its mere existence and intital genius. It is an ideology so presumed in the people, the flames of insanity could not destroy its hold on the psyche of a nation. Today we tend to lose sight of those original sentiments, forget them in apathy or distraction. But we take our constituional rights for granted. They have become so engrained in our minds that they are a part of our thinking process, our day to day antics. To truly see how our roots have sprouted into todays America, we as a nation, somehow need to stop and look inward to our own ideologies and how closely they correlate with our nations fundamental values. Our values are not merely our religion or what we do each day, they are a constantly shifting paradigm that defines our existence. Our values are how we relate to our world, and how it relates to us. If it is an understatment to find it morally repulsive to exhume our deepest fears under the harsh light of society, then it must be an overstatement to conclude that our nations afforded rights allow complete freedom of thought. The bottom line is our constituion is our bible, our nations guide of conduct that has become engrained in our psyche, a force so conclusive it truly defines our daily activities. We as a nation need to rediscover that connection and light all our nerves to the fearless dark to bust out of the cocoon of apathy many of us currently inhabit. Freedom takes on many forms, many faces of it have appeared out of the rain, and these times are no exception. It is time for us a nation to move forward and we hopefully will not forget why exactly we are still moving forward.
In a nation as diverse and wildly drastic as our own, the minds of the people who walk its land define the course of its future. From the moment the Declaration of Independence and constitution were drafted by the political and philosophical geniuses of our archaic birth, we have struggled to define as the times change, how our struggles and times correlate with a 200 year old document under a case of glass. Surely the founding fathers of this country had no way of implying to future generations the threats of terrorism or data protection and all the other issues that supersede the ones of the 18th century. Our ceaseless arguments over the valididity and relevance of the constitution seem to create a fog, that at times, clouds our judgment in the most vital hours. There is no doubt in my mind that in this nation, we are capable of recognizing and preserving the values and moral codes that serve as a beacon of light for coming generations. As all the decades passed and different ideologies materialized out of the minds of different leaders, our perceptions of our original intentions seemed to be viewed more and more through an opaque window that emphasized exceptions. We have at times, violated our constitution to the point of destruction, at times it may have well burned along with the madmen who crinkled its pages. Now I am by no means a strict constitutionalist who believes that every word of the document must be taken for face value. We live in a radically different era than that of Adams, Jefferson, and Madison. We do, however, need to take those fundamental expressions of our way of life in the constituion, and use them as our own guide to the issues of today that threaten to corrode our liberties and spirit of existence. Deep inside, we all have our own Declaration of Indendence forged by our own experiences and passions. Is it ethically possible for us as a society to apply these ideals that live within us to the future of our nation? Can we somehow cross check all of our values with the strict code of political bedrock? Can we even consider this in a nation so diverse as our own? How can a country that has no real and actual majority coexist on a level that preserves something as righteous and politcally perpetual as a constitution? It would seem almost plausible to believe that a nation in which the fabric of its creation is tearing and through it a whole new world is exploding, that this nation could stand together. Our diversity is becoming more and more mixed with each decade. We are a microcosm of the entire world, therefore we must learn to exist as an entire world would and does. The complexity of this paradox is baffling to say the least. It is no mistake however that our constitution would still be relevant in a nation like this. The constitution is merely a guide to what are now considered basic human rights to many people and the basis that any serious country is founded upon. With no religious doctrines to be instilled and no ideologies to be pressed upon the people wholly, this future microcosm of the world should have no struggle in holding the torch of democracy once more. The American system is one that demands respect in its mere existence and intital genius. It is an ideology so presumed in the people, the flames of insanity could not destroy its hold on the psyche of a nation. Today we tend to lose sight of those original sentiments, forget them in apathy or distraction. But we take our constituional rights for granted. They have become so engrained in our minds that they are a part of our thinking process, our day to day antics. To truly see how our roots have sprouted into todays America, we as a nation, somehow need to stop and look inward to our own ideologies and how closely they correlate with our nations fundamental values. Our values are not merely our religion or what we do each day, they are a constantly shifting paradigm that defines our existence. Our values are how we relate to our world, and how it relates to us. If it is an understatment to find it morally repulsive to exhume our deepest fears under the harsh light of society, then it must be an overstatement to conclude that our nations afforded rights allow complete freedom of thought. The bottom line is our constituion is our bible, our nations guide of conduct that has become engrained in our psyche, a force so conclusive it truly defines our daily activities. We as a nation need to rediscover that connection and light all our nerves to the fearless dark to bust out of the cocoon of apathy many of us currently inhabit. Freedom takes on many forms, many faces of it have appeared out of the rain, and these times are no exception. It is time for us a nation to move forward and we hopefully will not forget why exactly we are still moving forward.
Abortion In America: An Introspective Approach
11.02.08
As we all know rather well, abortion is one hot topic in the United States. And rightly so. Each year worldwide, 42 million abortions are performed, roughly 115,000 per day. Here in the states in 1996 alone we averaged 1.4 million of them. This is by no means a small amount of aborted fetuses. Even for a hardcore pro- choicer, the ethical consequences of these procedures are questionable. As in any debate though, both sides have their facts and figures ready to go if need be. Sometimes the information is accurate, most of the time it's skewed to fit the organizations agenda. As a result of millions of Americans commitment to this issue, millions of voters this election will cast their vote for a particular candidate simply due to their stance on abortion. This is without a doubt, the most morally and ethically pressing issue of our time.
But the fact is, nobody is for abortions. Abortions are gruesome, detestable acts of disparity in which very little good comes from. The powerful opinions deeply rooted in this argument are so strong and unwavering, that this issue rattles the oft golden lauded nerves of our socio- ethical conscience.
But, it is impossible to speak of abortion without mentioning the landmark 1973 supreme court case of Roe v. Wade. In this case it was officially presumed, at least on a theoretical level, that the mother may abort her pregnancy for any reason up until the "point at which the fetus becomes 'viable'". Abortion was now a constitutional right.
Naturally we're still debating the outcomes of that ruling decades later. Both sides have their arguments and tactics as do I. Some placid tactics, some downright violent, and even deadly ones. This sometimes turgid issue can and does lend itself to opinionated interpretation.
-It is my belief that abortion laws should be federally mandated
-It is my belief that abortion should only be allowed between conception and the following 28 days.
-It is my belief that abortions should only be allowed after that period if...
- the pregnancy threatens the mothers welfare (health wise or financially)
- the pregnancy is a result of incest, or rape
- the fetus has scientifically provable deficiencies that may tax the mothers welfare or the
integrity of the child.
-If the mother is under the age of 18, the parent(s)/guardian(s) legally need(s) to be notified of the child's situation if they are not.
-Each abortion would require the mandatory blood test of the mother to determine if illegal substances are present. If so, the mother should be apprehended by authorities and denied an abortion. UNLESS the fetus is scientifically provable to be born with severe deficiencies due to the use of illegal substances.
As we all know rather well, abortion is one hot topic in the United States. And rightly so. Each year worldwide, 42 million abortions are performed, roughly 115,000 per day. Here in the states in 1996 alone we averaged 1.4 million of them. This is by no means a small amount of aborted fetuses. Even for a hardcore pro- choicer, the ethical consequences of these procedures are questionable. As in any debate though, both sides have their facts and figures ready to go if need be. Sometimes the information is accurate, most of the time it's skewed to fit the organizations agenda. As a result of millions of Americans commitment to this issue, millions of voters this election will cast their vote for a particular candidate simply due to their stance on abortion. This is without a doubt, the most morally and ethically pressing issue of our time.
But the fact is, nobody is for abortions. Abortions are gruesome, detestable acts of disparity in which very little good comes from. The powerful opinions deeply rooted in this argument are so strong and unwavering, that this issue rattles the oft golden lauded nerves of our socio- ethical conscience.
But, it is impossible to speak of abortion without mentioning the landmark 1973 supreme court case of Roe v. Wade. In this case it was officially presumed, at least on a theoretical level, that the mother may abort her pregnancy for any reason up until the "point at which the fetus becomes 'viable'". Abortion was now a constitutional right.
Naturally we're still debating the outcomes of that ruling decades later. Both sides have their arguments and tactics as do I. Some placid tactics, some downright violent, and even deadly ones. This sometimes turgid issue can and does lend itself to opinionated interpretation.
-It is my belief that abortion laws should be federally mandated
-It is my belief that abortion should only be allowed between conception and the following 28 days.
-It is my belief that abortions should only be allowed after that period if...
- the pregnancy threatens the mothers welfare (health wise or financially)
- the pregnancy is a result of incest, or rape
- the fetus has scientifically provable deficiencies that may tax the mothers welfare or the
integrity of the child.
-If the mother is under the age of 18, the parent(s)/guardian(s) legally need(s) to be notified of the child's situation if they are not.
-Each abortion would require the mandatory blood test of the mother to determine if illegal substances are present. If so, the mother should be apprehended by authorities and denied an abortion. UNLESS the fetus is scientifically provable to be born with severe deficiencies due to the use of illegal substances.
The Shallow Void of Innocence
11.05.08
Sometimes I sit in the dark and feel the gray translucent hands of fear touch my shoulders. But then there are lights, headlights, coming up the hill in the dark. A caravan of sadness. All the lonely drivers cut off from history and coming out of work. Following the bright lights, getting blinded along the way. Miserable visions flood their pounding brains. Millions of them, in the rain, gutter bound philistines in love. What a way to go. Oh what a life it would be if I could only work for a company that has no interest in anything but human greed. Oh what a life would lay me in my grave when I am old and respected for my dog- like obedience that has added nothing to humanities sum of knowledge and beauty. I know the feeling of fear now. It's all I've got to hide. I know that deep, guttural dread that rises up in you when you expose the truth. A dark truth. A sad truth. A truthy truth. I know the weight of a society pitted against your unknown ideologies. Your unknown wisdom. Your beauty is darkened by the flip of a switch. Love becomes a game, a fruitless maze. The genius of simplicity evaporates so fast. I know what it is to have everything pulled out from under you not once but twice, always, back into the hidden free fall where love dies with hate. You can only hope someone will latch onto you, somehow, some way. We all know it. When will we rip off the bandages that collage us in bondage? I think life is imitating art now. I feel my own truth seeking mind is turning against me now too. Collecting all my insecurities and longings and analyzing them to the point of exhaustion. Knowledge is not freeing me as it is supposed to, it's imprisoning me. Wisdom is hard to come by as is love, respect, happiness and all the indescribable thoughts that inhabit the shallow void of innocence. Iin that shallow void I'm sitting shivering waiting for the sun. But the sun doesn't shine here, me and you are just blips on the radar. Our dim, green lives flash for a dull moment on the black starry plain of eternity and fade into a silent obscurity. No one I know is worth spending that blip with. No one I know is remotely capable of my love or unyielding affection nor am I capable of theirs. All I feel in these people is a blank stare from fear and a disappointed dream in human form. A neutral resentment. When we finally meet at the crossroads of fate, I don't know what will descend. I'm backin' in the corner now boys and it's a long ways out of town and the stars are so damn beautiful tonight. Every night, forever.
Sometimes I sit in the dark and feel the gray translucent hands of fear touch my shoulders. But then there are lights, headlights, coming up the hill in the dark. A caravan of sadness. All the lonely drivers cut off from history and coming out of work. Following the bright lights, getting blinded along the way. Miserable visions flood their pounding brains. Millions of them, in the rain, gutter bound philistines in love. What a way to go. Oh what a life it would be if I could only work for a company that has no interest in anything but human greed. Oh what a life would lay me in my grave when I am old and respected for my dog- like obedience that has added nothing to humanities sum of knowledge and beauty. I know the feeling of fear now. It's all I've got to hide. I know that deep, guttural dread that rises up in you when you expose the truth. A dark truth. A sad truth. A truthy truth. I know the weight of a society pitted against your unknown ideologies. Your unknown wisdom. Your beauty is darkened by the flip of a switch. Love becomes a game, a fruitless maze. The genius of simplicity evaporates so fast. I know what it is to have everything pulled out from under you not once but twice, always, back into the hidden free fall where love dies with hate. You can only hope someone will latch onto you, somehow, some way. We all know it. When will we rip off the bandages that collage us in bondage? I think life is imitating art now. I feel my own truth seeking mind is turning against me now too. Collecting all my insecurities and longings and analyzing them to the point of exhaustion. Knowledge is not freeing me as it is supposed to, it's imprisoning me. Wisdom is hard to come by as is love, respect, happiness and all the indescribable thoughts that inhabit the shallow void of innocence. Iin that shallow void I'm sitting shivering waiting for the sun. But the sun doesn't shine here, me and you are just blips on the radar. Our dim, green lives flash for a dull moment on the black starry plain of eternity and fade into a silent obscurity. No one I know is worth spending that blip with. No one I know is remotely capable of my love or unyielding affection nor am I capable of theirs. All I feel in these people is a blank stare from fear and a disappointed dream in human form. A neutral resentment. When we finally meet at the crossroads of fate, I don't know what will descend. I'm backin' in the corner now boys and it's a long ways out of town and the stars are so damn beautiful tonight. Every night, forever.
Deep Inside
11.10.08
I'm walking by tranquil lakes and streams and time is winding down. The entire world is behind me. But i don't mind. These shadows grab me, time is running away. Slow motion is the way I see it. I've always walked with my head down, hands in pockets. Why on Earth would I change now? Senseless bargains with sanity blow through the night breeze. They whip, they tear through emerald leaves, dangling for their sad little lives. We're all either rock solid or a puddle of tears. I'm convinced. By who or what I don't know. But I am convinced. Morning is a world away, so is love, so is peace, so is clarity. But that world is out there. I see its distant lights. I know it looks like I'm moving, but I'm standing still. I'm getting there. Everything is so old. I am an infant crawling through the grass, a destitute infant in rags, pillaging the shelves of knowledge. Night after night. Desperation after desperation. Wisdom learns through pain. I guess there's just some places I don't belong pillaging. I suppose love is one of them, maybe my mind. If only she'd have understood, or saw through the blindness. But this train is embarking, far off, too near to everywhere, well, I could never get on. I'd rather it run me over than take me to its promise land. I'll make my own promises thank you. All my dreams, locked in a prison somewhere, where is the key, why is it missing? Am I the only one looking for it? I sure hope so. Everything is at a standstill. No complete movement. Sitting in one place for so long is one of those things that's sure to leave a mark. Despite all of this free thinking, independent jargon the bottom line is I need people. Good people. Fine people. I need love. Good love. Fine love. Love that goes so deep I want to drown. So deep I would never think of doing otherwise. Silent drowning. So so endless. But, there aren't any people like that who I know. At least personally. All of them, they're all the wrong people. I don't think they realize that. That's the worst part. I am almost positive I was meant to inhabit some other era. Maybe the past but probably the future. Some camera shaky, juxtaposing smiley world of green in a brief glimpse. Let us zoom in on the ornate telescopes. I know I'll regret writing this in the morning. I know I wont understand it in the morning. But, I'll take this. I'll take it all. I'll play the game. Right up until the end.
I'm walking by tranquil lakes and streams and time is winding down. The entire world is behind me. But i don't mind. These shadows grab me, time is running away. Slow motion is the way I see it. I've always walked with my head down, hands in pockets. Why on Earth would I change now? Senseless bargains with sanity blow through the night breeze. They whip, they tear through emerald leaves, dangling for their sad little lives. We're all either rock solid or a puddle of tears. I'm convinced. By who or what I don't know. But I am convinced. Morning is a world away, so is love, so is peace, so is clarity. But that world is out there. I see its distant lights. I know it looks like I'm moving, but I'm standing still. I'm getting there. Everything is so old. I am an infant crawling through the grass, a destitute infant in rags, pillaging the shelves of knowledge. Night after night. Desperation after desperation. Wisdom learns through pain. I guess there's just some places I don't belong pillaging. I suppose love is one of them, maybe my mind. If only she'd have understood, or saw through the blindness. But this train is embarking, far off, too near to everywhere, well, I could never get on. I'd rather it run me over than take me to its promise land. I'll make my own promises thank you. All my dreams, locked in a prison somewhere, where is the key, why is it missing? Am I the only one looking for it? I sure hope so. Everything is at a standstill. No complete movement. Sitting in one place for so long is one of those things that's sure to leave a mark. Despite all of this free thinking, independent jargon the bottom line is I need people. Good people. Fine people. I need love. Good love. Fine love. Love that goes so deep I want to drown. So deep I would never think of doing otherwise. Silent drowning. So so endless. But, there aren't any people like that who I know. At least personally. All of them, they're all the wrong people. I don't think they realize that. That's the worst part. I am almost positive I was meant to inhabit some other era. Maybe the past but probably the future. Some camera shaky, juxtaposing smiley world of green in a brief glimpse. Let us zoom in on the ornate telescopes. I know I'll regret writing this in the morning. I know I wont understand it in the morning. But, I'll take this. I'll take it all. I'll play the game. Right up until the end.
People I Can Do Without Part II
11.15.08
1. People who drive Grand Am's and think that it makes them cool
2. People who want to save the planet. We can't even save ourselves and now we're suddenly going to save the entire planet? Give me a fucking break.
3. Fat people who use wheelchairs due to their grotesque weight
4. People who wear camouflage baseball hats
5. Blind people who have yet to learn how to use their stick
6. People who back up in drive- through lines
7. Emo/ scene kids with oddly shaped noses
8. People who are white and dress in the style of black males. You're white and you're lame. Get over it.
9. People with 'baby-on-board' stickers on their car
10. People who drive pick- up trucks but add large antennas or vertical exhaust systems to them.
11. People who throw cigarette butt's out the window. Especially when they hit your car.
12. Christmas gift fad's
13. People who wear a suit while driving a European import sedan.
14. People who have American flag's on a large, tall poll in their front yard with flood lights shining up at it.
15. People who take emo-esque pictures of themselves, turn them into black and white, and make it look like their drowning.
16. People who chronically complain about the incompetent leaders they helped to elect.
17. People with eating disorders. You either eat, or you don't. What the fuck is the big mystery?
18. People who listen exclusively to rap, Hannah Montana or any other corporate bullshit, manufactured artists.
19. People who smoke cigars and don't have credentials that make them interesting.
20. Dead people buried underground. What a waste of space.
21. People whose real name (e.g Wolf Blitzer) sounds as if it's a stage name.
22. Rachel Maddow
23. People who never stop talking and continuously talk about the most trite and meaningless shit.
24. People who like milk. Just kidding. But not really.
25. Fat people who go to fast- food restaurants or any restaurant where there is food that may contribute to their high, gluttonous caloric intake.
26. People who eat the candy that comes out of those little glass stands in haircut places that look as if they haven't been sanitized since the inception of the business itself.
27. People who act like they know a lot about something everyone has common knowledge of.
28. Girls who dress as if they live on a farm or try to conform to some type of pseudo- agrarian enigma.
29. People who want others to believe they smoke marijuana because they think that'll make them cool to their otherwise oblivious peers.
30. NRA members
31. People who announce what bodily function they are going to perform in the bathroom.
32. People who talk about the color of their urine.
1. People who drive Grand Am's and think that it makes them cool
2. People who want to save the planet. We can't even save ourselves and now we're suddenly going to save the entire planet? Give me a fucking break.
3. Fat people who use wheelchairs due to their grotesque weight
4. People who wear camouflage baseball hats
5. Blind people who have yet to learn how to use their stick
6. People who back up in drive- through lines
7. Emo/ scene kids with oddly shaped noses
8. People who are white and dress in the style of black males. You're white and you're lame. Get over it.
9. People with 'baby-on-board' stickers on their car
10. People who drive pick- up trucks but add large antennas or vertical exhaust systems to them.
11. People who throw cigarette butt's out the window. Especially when they hit your car.
12. Christmas gift fad's
13. People who wear a suit while driving a European import sedan.
14. People who have American flag's on a large, tall poll in their front yard with flood lights shining up at it.
15. People who take emo-esque pictures of themselves, turn them into black and white, and make it look like their drowning.
16. People who chronically complain about the incompetent leaders they helped to elect.
17. People with eating disorders. You either eat, or you don't. What the fuck is the big mystery?
18. People who listen exclusively to rap, Hannah Montana or any other corporate bullshit, manufactured artists.
19. People who smoke cigars and don't have credentials that make them interesting.
20. Dead people buried underground. What a waste of space.
21. People whose real name (e.g Wolf Blitzer) sounds as if it's a stage name.
22. Rachel Maddow
23. People who never stop talking and continuously talk about the most trite and meaningless shit.
24. People who like milk. Just kidding. But not really.
25. Fat people who go to fast- food restaurants or any restaurant where there is food that may contribute to their high, gluttonous caloric intake.
26. People who eat the candy that comes out of those little glass stands in haircut places that look as if they haven't been sanitized since the inception of the business itself.
27. People who act like they know a lot about something everyone has common knowledge of.
28. Girls who dress as if they live on a farm or try to conform to some type of pseudo- agrarian enigma.
29. People who want others to believe they smoke marijuana because they think that'll make them cool to their otherwise oblivious peers.
30. NRA members
31. People who announce what bodily function they are going to perform in the bathroom.
32. People who talk about the color of their urine.
America's Auto Disaster: Sanity Makes a Comeback
11.21.08
Well, here we are. This is America, 2008. The economy in the tank, the unemployment rate through the roof, millions of jobs on the chopping block, one of the biggest crises' in the nations history. Thomas Jefferson must be rolling over in his grave. And if that weren't bad enough, we have an incompetent administration and there is no one around who seems to be taking charge of this disaster. The White House is rather silent, the treasury has gone under the radar, and president- elect Barack Obama doesn't have too much to say either. But, who does have something to say are the corporate CEO's of America's "Big Three" automakers (GM, Ford, Chrysler). In fact, just a few days ago, they descended upon Washington D.C. in their corporate jets, ready to plead Congress for a bailout. Another bailout, another day. The question now is, do we bail them out? Or, do we let them go into bankruptcy? Hm, lets think about this. Here are three companies who over the past 20 or so years, have built incredibly inefficient vehicles, tortured the environment, and still, after the past decade of increasing energy anxiety, still have yet to get on the fuel- efficient bandwagon. Does this sound like a company that should be bailed out by the hard working American people? The bankruptcy option on the other hand, allows a so called 'douching' of the incompetent management. It would surely give these people a firm smack across the face and hopefully encourage them to make wiser decisions in the future. This option though would gravely endanger the livelihood of over a million working people and the small industrial towns they live in. Basically, it comes down to a matter of emotion. Do we bail them out for a sordid sum of cash, or do we let them fall and risk having the same issues again in the future? How much longer will we test their learning curve? There is an old belief in America that we rise and fall as one, together. How far are we willing to go, how much Democratic progress are we willing to go against to save ourselves from our own ignorant, blind apathy toward our own welfare? I ask a lot of questions. But one thing is certain. Right now, there are far more questions than there are answers. But even in the face of such onerous times, there is still a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, the flag of freedom, though tattered, though torn, still fly's vehemently in these tear drenched winds of change.
America must act now to change the ways that have led to this disastrous economic climate. We need to invest not in apathy or greed, but in fuel- efficient technologies, rail systems, and renewable energy sources. These can no longer just be words used to distract the truth seeking public. They must be that. Truths. The actions we take now will determine our future outcome as a nation. This is the moment that has taken so long to come. The moment when the path is clear, but the steering wheel is held by more than two hands. The time is now for the American people to see clearly, to actively take part in their own self- created fate.
Well, here we are. This is America, 2008. The economy in the tank, the unemployment rate through the roof, millions of jobs on the chopping block, one of the biggest crises' in the nations history. Thomas Jefferson must be rolling over in his grave. And if that weren't bad enough, we have an incompetent administration and there is no one around who seems to be taking charge of this disaster. The White House is rather silent, the treasury has gone under the radar, and president- elect Barack Obama doesn't have too much to say either. But, who does have something to say are the corporate CEO's of America's "Big Three" automakers (GM, Ford, Chrysler). In fact, just a few days ago, they descended upon Washington D.C. in their corporate jets, ready to plead Congress for a bailout. Another bailout, another day. The question now is, do we bail them out? Or, do we let them go into bankruptcy? Hm, lets think about this. Here are three companies who over the past 20 or so years, have built incredibly inefficient vehicles, tortured the environment, and still, after the past decade of increasing energy anxiety, still have yet to get on the fuel- efficient bandwagon. Does this sound like a company that should be bailed out by the hard working American people? The bankruptcy option on the other hand, allows a so called 'douching' of the incompetent management. It would surely give these people a firm smack across the face and hopefully encourage them to make wiser decisions in the future. This option though would gravely endanger the livelihood of over a million working people and the small industrial towns they live in. Basically, it comes down to a matter of emotion. Do we bail them out for a sordid sum of cash, or do we let them fall and risk having the same issues again in the future? How much longer will we test their learning curve? There is an old belief in America that we rise and fall as one, together. How far are we willing to go, how much Democratic progress are we willing to go against to save ourselves from our own ignorant, blind apathy toward our own welfare? I ask a lot of questions. But one thing is certain. Right now, there are far more questions than there are answers. But even in the face of such onerous times, there is still a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, the flag of freedom, though tattered, though torn, still fly's vehemently in these tear drenched winds of change.
America must act now to change the ways that have led to this disastrous economic climate. We need to invest not in apathy or greed, but in fuel- efficient technologies, rail systems, and renewable energy sources. These can no longer just be words used to distract the truth seeking public. They must be that. Truths. The actions we take now will determine our future outcome as a nation. This is the moment that has taken so long to come. The moment when the path is clear, but the steering wheel is held by more than two hands. The time is now for the American people to see clearly, to actively take part in their own self- created fate.
Humanity
11.28.08
Day in day out, through the constant recycling of news, the fast- forward motion of life, I am forced to wonder, why? It's almost as if I'm always staring down the deepest hole in the world, avoiding staring into the eyes of the beast. The beast being all that exists just to merely exist. When darkness falls upon the land, the other side of the world is just being blessed with nature's emollient light. Everything is a cycle, everything moves from beginning to end, yet everything is entirely immortal-- existing forever in some type of molecular form. Everything that exists now has always existed. Perhaps it did so in a different form, a piece of paper was once a tree, a tree was once a seed, a tree will die and turn into dirt. The material for me to exist has always existed, its energy manifested itself some summer night in 1989. I will one day die and I will be different energy, a different force, but still existing, hopefully not some chemical filled corpse 6 feet under. When I die, I want my body to be thrown into the Alaskan forest, I want to go back into the cycle of existence, where I belong. Everything that is born will die though, everything that is new will one day be old. Beauty will give way to natures drowning sorrows and we'll all walk proudly out of the sea to the moonlit shore. It's hard telling what's a dream and what is not some times, some days. Maybe everything is a dream, the entire existence of everything in the world and the universe. An unconscious force ebbing and flowing to the transient beat of time. When I look out the window and see the sky, the bare trees, the coming night, I can't help but feel that I'm part of everything yet at the same time an isolated speck of dust helplessly dragging myself through my tiny world. When I look at the night sky, I'm transported to some other dimension of my mind. An instinctual wonder overcomes me so completely. To see infinity above and know that it is beautiful, what knowledge to possess. It almost brings a sense to me that there IS something bigger than ourselves, bigger than anything we can comprehend. I'm sure there is, I'm not sure what it is though and I'm surely not willing to take any guesses. Whatever it is created everything, the dynamics of life, organisms, organisms with a constant beating heart, a body with billions of cells, with the power to love and to imagine and work in harmony with the purity of natures flawless plan. It's almost too good to be true, but it's true. It is so true. How can we as a species, as the most intelligent species we know of, allow ourselves to be treated like slaves, to be swept up in mindless activity. How can we allow our world to poisoned by greed and polluted by ignorance? Perhaps it is our nature to destroy ourselves. Perhaps we are here with no purpose but to merely exist, perhaps my ideas are wrong, perhaps everything is wrong. But, I doubt it. Everything is too perfect. There is too much harmony in the world and the universe for evil to ever triumph over good. Good will always triumph over what is evil. Even the most base and vile occurrences we witness always are healed by time, erased by the genius memory. It is my belief that we exist, not because we were put here by some magical entity, but we exist because without us, we could not exist. We exist for the reason that there are reasons. We exist because we do, there is no reason. We were born out of something we will never understand, something that the more we look for, the more it eludes us. We were not born out of anything ,we were born into everything. I guess I was wrong again. I guess I'll have to keep living and I will not forget that I have forgotten.
Day in day out, through the constant recycling of news, the fast- forward motion of life, I am forced to wonder, why? It's almost as if I'm always staring down the deepest hole in the world, avoiding staring into the eyes of the beast. The beast being all that exists just to merely exist. When darkness falls upon the land, the other side of the world is just being blessed with nature's emollient light. Everything is a cycle, everything moves from beginning to end, yet everything is entirely immortal-- existing forever in some type of molecular form. Everything that exists now has always existed. Perhaps it did so in a different form, a piece of paper was once a tree, a tree was once a seed, a tree will die and turn into dirt. The material for me to exist has always existed, its energy manifested itself some summer night in 1989. I will one day die and I will be different energy, a different force, but still existing, hopefully not some chemical filled corpse 6 feet under. When I die, I want my body to be thrown into the Alaskan forest, I want to go back into the cycle of existence, where I belong. Everything that is born will die though, everything that is new will one day be old. Beauty will give way to natures drowning sorrows and we'll all walk proudly out of the sea to the moonlit shore. It's hard telling what's a dream and what is not some times, some days. Maybe everything is a dream, the entire existence of everything in the world and the universe. An unconscious force ebbing and flowing to the transient beat of time. When I look out the window and see the sky, the bare trees, the coming night, I can't help but feel that I'm part of everything yet at the same time an isolated speck of dust helplessly dragging myself through my tiny world. When I look at the night sky, I'm transported to some other dimension of my mind. An instinctual wonder overcomes me so completely. To see infinity above and know that it is beautiful, what knowledge to possess. It almost brings a sense to me that there IS something bigger than ourselves, bigger than anything we can comprehend. I'm sure there is, I'm not sure what it is though and I'm surely not willing to take any guesses. Whatever it is created everything, the dynamics of life, organisms, organisms with a constant beating heart, a body with billions of cells, with the power to love and to imagine and work in harmony with the purity of natures flawless plan. It's almost too good to be true, but it's true. It is so true. How can we as a species, as the most intelligent species we know of, allow ourselves to be treated like slaves, to be swept up in mindless activity. How can we allow our world to poisoned by greed and polluted by ignorance? Perhaps it is our nature to destroy ourselves. Perhaps we are here with no purpose but to merely exist, perhaps my ideas are wrong, perhaps everything is wrong. But, I doubt it. Everything is too perfect. There is too much harmony in the world and the universe for evil to ever triumph over good. Good will always triumph over what is evil. Even the most base and vile occurrences we witness always are healed by time, erased by the genius memory. It is my belief that we exist, not because we were put here by some magical entity, but we exist because without us, we could not exist. We exist for the reason that there are reasons. We exist because we do, there is no reason. We were born out of something we will never understand, something that the more we look for, the more it eludes us. We were not born out of anything ,we were born into everything. I guess I was wrong again. I guess I'll have to keep living and I will not forget that I have forgotten.
Weird Enough For Me
11.30.08
This is a story about what lies beneath the surface of some humans. The brutal reality of inter- office relationships, told through the voice of the handsome onlooker, me.
THE OFFICE OF THE NEW YORK CITY CRIME INVESTIGATION AGENCY. OCTOBER 1992. NOT THAT ANY OF THAT REALLY FUCKING MATTERS.
"Present to me one fact, Sinep, why I should not go and hang myself from my daughter's ceiling fan," said Davis. Look, said Dr. KO Sinep, you're full of ambition, your knowledge of criminal law is unsurpassed in this district. Your daughter is full of hatred herself you know. When your wife..... when she let me sleep with her..... she bled and died in your arms. You do remember don't you? Remember the look on Lucidia's face Davis? When in her innocence, her youthful squalor dragged her carcass, your daughter dragged it, leaving a blood trail out to the dumpster on the curb. Remember how we laughed far into the cunning night? Where was your daughter then? I walked in on her and saw her tying a rope around her ceiling fan Davis. I stepped out of the euphoria, just for a moment..... I told her no, life is full of beauty. For Christ's sake my heart was racing Davis. It was busting through my bones, I swear to Allah! I lied to her my best. I told her life is worth living, my face was convulsing, tears flooding the virgin land under my skin. I told her the wonders of love, the catatonic melancholy nights and everything you and I traded away. My mind was fading, falling like the neon colors around a waning jukebox. We traded it all for two things Davis. Beer and pussy. Hell Davis, we were drowning in it. I'm still coughing it out of my burnt lungs."
"Well, look Sinep, with all due respect, my wife, I took her out of the dumpster that night after you wandered down the street, dragged her to the garden and.... and.... I just did it. I tried to relive those days you just spoke of. Dark yet bright, brilliant yet oh so unmistakable."
"Wait a second, said Davis. You're telling me that you..that you.. fucked your dead wife?, the one I accidentally killed, her? How is this?"
Davis spoke sullenly now, he placed his trembling hand in his pocket.
"Look, don't worry about it, said Davis. I dragged her back to the dumpster. I still visit the landfill every once in a while, looking for her skull. I want to put it up on the mantle, with daisies through her eye socket."
"Hmmm, yeah," said Sinep. "She'd get a hell of a turn on from that."
Just then local criminal task force exec. Dr. JW Whitaker, opened the door, he peered into the dim, contemplative office room.
"You bize bizy?", asked Whitaker in his nasally, Brooklyn dialect
Sinep shook his head at the desk, his feet up on it.
Sinep and Davis replied no in that nervous and carefree way I think I've come to love.
"We got som won lyin out on the Parkway, out on the north side. Guts, blood, harrid really," said Whitaker, walking into the office.
"Davis slumped down into the black leather chair and buried his head into his hands.
"No I can't do that Whitaker. I can't stand to see women, women of all fuckers, laying there with their heart on their sleeve, literally. I can't do it!"
Davis got up, threw the chair on its side. He stumbled to Whitaker. Davis grabbed his head and smashed it into the corner of the mahogany desk Sinep sat at.
"Hoy shit!," screamed Sinep," what the hell are you doing!", "What the hell are you doing!"
Davis turned to Sinep, his hair covering one half of his crazed face. "I'm doing what you did to my wife you sick fucker. Look at it, look at him dying now Sinep, does this turn you on? Are you gonna start jerking off under that desk you fucking murderer asshole?"
Sinep leaped across the desk scattering papers across the floor. He roundhouse kicked Davis in the face. As Davis fell to the ground, Sinep kicked the shit out of Whitaker.
"You fat bastard Whitaker, I know you sneak out to the gay sex bars each Friday. You leave that bitch wife of yours to play her own games huh! You just love when the fags surround you and abuse you like that! What kind of sick bastard are you anyway?"
Sinep offered his hand out to Whitaker, his eyes glowed with defeat and sad delusions anyway.
"Look at him," said Sinep pointing to Davis on the office floor,"Look at him!"
Just then a knock came on the office door. It was either a dinosaur eating bird or it was fig bitch. The overweight busty secretary Flynn, who got off on eating Fig Newtons stored in her panties.
" Um, I have like, a paper thing here. It's something bout like the homicide out by like the Parkway"
"Uggh that stupid bitch," proclaimed Sinep.
In a impatient and angry tone he told her to just slip it in the mailbox outside the door.
"Ummm no Sinep. I have to give it to you. Like, it's company policy!!! Whitaker told me so!"
As to not cause any further suspicion from the outside office, Sinep cracked the door open a bit and took the paper.
"Thanks fig bitch, er, I mean Flynn."
Fig bitch heard the offhanded remark and walked back to the slightly ajar office door.
"Excuse me Sinep, what did you just say?"
As I sat and watched this unfold from a cubicle nearby, I was waiting impatiently for a brawl, I hoped she would rip that ugly ass shawl off and everyone around me would go down in a brazen shower of gunfire. I wanted to witness the meltdown and live.
"Fig bitch?" replied Flynn. "Fig bitch?"
She pressed that chest against the office door as Sinep tried to hold it shut from the other side.
Haha, the real side of inter- office politcs I thought to myself while watching. I wondered whose cubicle I was sitting at, like I care. There was a calendar with pictures of this employees family tacked to the cubicle. I lit a joint and fired staples at the picture until the stapler was empty. Then I took the stapler and threw it over the cubicle wall with some force I might add. I think it smashed a vase or something. Damn.
Flynn was still trying to pry the door open.
Davis was beginning to regain consciousness now.
"What the hell is going on here!" said Davis.
"Davis," Whitaker whispered weakly lying on the floor. " You see that paperweight on the bookshelf?"
"Yah, sure, sure," said Davis.
"Well, grab it and beat down Sinep with it, it's our only hope!"
Davis, unfortunately, had been knocked out so hard he had forgotten about the events that led to this occurrence.
Sinep was busy holding the door shut from Flynn.
Flynn screamed for security and two female IT interns showed up at the mundane office door.
Recognizing his advantage over Davis, Sinep said, "Davis, open up the bookshelf. There's a secret compartment behind it. Throw Whitaker's body into it and close it! You can eat him if you want I guess."
Sinep opened the office door and grabbed Flynn and took her inside to stop the commotion. People were starting to notice.
"Look Fig bitch, I'm an Israeli Arab fighter, I've got this whole place wired to go down in 2 minutes! said Sinep."
Fig Bitch started pounding on the door so Sinep told Davis to wack her with the paperweight.
Davis sneaked up behind Fig Bitch and tripped her ankles. Then he sat on her face until that chest stopped moving in that tantalizing up down motion that had driven Davis to do insane things.
"Davis, said Sinep, This building is about to blow in a minute, I want to tell you that it is I who has your wife's skull and it feels soooooooo good."
Davis screamed and ran toward Sinep in anger. He punched him in the throat, then the stomach, then the genitals. Sinep fell to the floor.
Whitaker jumped out from behind the bookcase and started writing something on a piece of company stationary.
"What the FUCK ARE YOU DOING!" screamed Davis. "Davis grabbed his note and recited Whitaker's note in a childish voice of mockery.
"Sally, tell Geraldo that I'll always wash him in the bath, until he turns 16 at least. I love you so much. I know I'm not going to make it out of here alive. I've sort of been taken hostage by a crazed subordinate. The acid is under my night stand, take it at will. Love, Dennis."
"Awwww, Denny, what a tragedy huh. Look, you think I want to go down in this shithole?" Davis had Whitaker pinned against the wall, talking under his breath frantically, his face oh so close to Whitaker. His white shirtsleeves were ripped. His black tie was hanging crooked over his exposed chest.
"You were gonna send me out to see that woman weren't you? See her body torn apart like that. You know what I went through with my wife!"
Fig bitch stormed out of the office after regaining consciousness and screamed, "BOMB!"
Sirens flashed, workers jumped over their cubicles to try to get to the bottom floor in time.
Everyone rushed insatiably in one direction. Towards death.
The doors had all automatically locked shut. Everyone was trapped on the 11th floor of the New York City Crime Investigation Agency.
Men in black armor stormed into the office level mowing everyone down in their path.
Bullets hit the light bulbs as each explosion announced the arrival of increased darkness.
In the office, Davis hurriedly slammed the door shut.
"Fuck you Whitaker" said Davis as he delivered the final blow to Whitaker's mortality.
As the police force broke down the office door, Davis crawled through the ceiling ductwork in the building.
He peered down from the ceiling to see Fig bitch dead on the floor.
So.... I walk over to her body, take off her pants, and steal the Fig newtons. Not bad I say as a bullet fly's past my head. A little melty but hey, in a war zone, anything goes. I walk over to the coffee machine, take a few swigs of the brown bile. Sick I thought, after I leave I am headed to Starbucks. I grabbed the glass pot and threw it at the ceiling.
Just then Davis fell through the ceiling, his face planted right between Fig bitches tits.
An office grabs him by the back of his shirt collar.
"You from around here?" the officer asks,
"No, no hell no I'm a vending machine repairman."
The lie didn't stick so well as the bullet did.
Just then there was a huge explosion that jolted everyone dead and alive into the wall....
"What the hell?" mumbled Sinep.
"5:30 already?
He switched his alarm clock off.
"Hell, that was a crazy ass nightmare. Jesus shit! And who the hell was the guy in the.... oh nevermind. He yelled for his wife Maria N. Coco.
"Honey? where's my toothbrush?"
"Well, darling it's right where you left it."
"And where is that?"
Her tone turned angry.
"Davis called me at 4am. You were in his wife's bed last night. You had your toothbrush with you and everything. He called you know, I told you that, his wife, she isn't breathing. He's wondering if it's something that you did."
"What?" replied Sinep in a tone of great confusion.
He got in the car and drove by Davis's house. An arm was sticking out of the garbage can.
This is a story about what lies beneath the surface of some humans. The brutal reality of inter- office relationships, told through the voice of the handsome onlooker, me.
THE OFFICE OF THE NEW YORK CITY CRIME INVESTIGATION AGENCY. OCTOBER 1992. NOT THAT ANY OF THAT REALLY FUCKING MATTERS.
"Present to me one fact, Sinep, why I should not go and hang myself from my daughter's ceiling fan," said Davis. Look, said Dr. KO Sinep, you're full of ambition, your knowledge of criminal law is unsurpassed in this district. Your daughter is full of hatred herself you know. When your wife..... when she let me sleep with her..... she bled and died in your arms. You do remember don't you? Remember the look on Lucidia's face Davis? When in her innocence, her youthful squalor dragged her carcass, your daughter dragged it, leaving a blood trail out to the dumpster on the curb. Remember how we laughed far into the cunning night? Where was your daughter then? I walked in on her and saw her tying a rope around her ceiling fan Davis. I stepped out of the euphoria, just for a moment..... I told her no, life is full of beauty. For Christ's sake my heart was racing Davis. It was busting through my bones, I swear to Allah! I lied to her my best. I told her life is worth living, my face was convulsing, tears flooding the virgin land under my skin. I told her the wonders of love, the catatonic melancholy nights and everything you and I traded away. My mind was fading, falling like the neon colors around a waning jukebox. We traded it all for two things Davis. Beer and pussy. Hell Davis, we were drowning in it. I'm still coughing it out of my burnt lungs."
"Well, look Sinep, with all due respect, my wife, I took her out of the dumpster that night after you wandered down the street, dragged her to the garden and.... and.... I just did it. I tried to relive those days you just spoke of. Dark yet bright, brilliant yet oh so unmistakable."
"Wait a second, said Davis. You're telling me that you..that you.. fucked your dead wife?, the one I accidentally killed, her? How is this?"
Davis spoke sullenly now, he placed his trembling hand in his pocket.
"Look, don't worry about it, said Davis. I dragged her back to the dumpster. I still visit the landfill every once in a while, looking for her skull. I want to put it up on the mantle, with daisies through her eye socket."
"Hmmm, yeah," said Sinep. "She'd get a hell of a turn on from that."
Just then local criminal task force exec. Dr. JW Whitaker, opened the door, he peered into the dim, contemplative office room.
"You bize bizy?", asked Whitaker in his nasally, Brooklyn dialect
Sinep shook his head at the desk, his feet up on it.
Sinep and Davis replied no in that nervous and carefree way I think I've come to love.
"We got som won lyin out on the Parkway, out on the north side. Guts, blood, harrid really," said Whitaker, walking into the office.
"Davis slumped down into the black leather chair and buried his head into his hands.
"No I can't do that Whitaker. I can't stand to see women, women of all fuckers, laying there with their heart on their sleeve, literally. I can't do it!"
Davis got up, threw the chair on its side. He stumbled to Whitaker. Davis grabbed his head and smashed it into the corner of the mahogany desk Sinep sat at.
"Hoy shit!," screamed Sinep," what the hell are you doing!", "What the hell are you doing!"
Davis turned to Sinep, his hair covering one half of his crazed face. "I'm doing what you did to my wife you sick fucker. Look at it, look at him dying now Sinep, does this turn you on? Are you gonna start jerking off under that desk you fucking murderer asshole?"
Sinep leaped across the desk scattering papers across the floor. He roundhouse kicked Davis in the face. As Davis fell to the ground, Sinep kicked the shit out of Whitaker.
"You fat bastard Whitaker, I know you sneak out to the gay sex bars each Friday. You leave that bitch wife of yours to play her own games huh! You just love when the fags surround you and abuse you like that! What kind of sick bastard are you anyway?"
Sinep offered his hand out to Whitaker, his eyes glowed with defeat and sad delusions anyway.
"Look at him," said Sinep pointing to Davis on the office floor,"Look at him!"
Just then a knock came on the office door. It was either a dinosaur eating bird or it was fig bitch. The overweight busty secretary Flynn, who got off on eating Fig Newtons stored in her panties.
" Um, I have like, a paper thing here. It's something bout like the homicide out by like the Parkway"
"Uggh that stupid bitch," proclaimed Sinep.
In a impatient and angry tone he told her to just slip it in the mailbox outside the door.
"Ummm no Sinep. I have to give it to you. Like, it's company policy!!! Whitaker told me so!"
As to not cause any further suspicion from the outside office, Sinep cracked the door open a bit and took the paper.
"Thanks fig bitch, er, I mean Flynn."
Fig bitch heard the offhanded remark and walked back to the slightly ajar office door.
"Excuse me Sinep, what did you just say?"
As I sat and watched this unfold from a cubicle nearby, I was waiting impatiently for a brawl, I hoped she would rip that ugly ass shawl off and everyone around me would go down in a brazen shower of gunfire. I wanted to witness the meltdown and live.
"Fig bitch?" replied Flynn. "Fig bitch?"
She pressed that chest against the office door as Sinep tried to hold it shut from the other side.
Haha, the real side of inter- office politcs I thought to myself while watching. I wondered whose cubicle I was sitting at, like I care. There was a calendar with pictures of this employees family tacked to the cubicle. I lit a joint and fired staples at the picture until the stapler was empty. Then I took the stapler and threw it over the cubicle wall with some force I might add. I think it smashed a vase or something. Damn.
Flynn was still trying to pry the door open.
Davis was beginning to regain consciousness now.
"What the hell is going on here!" said Davis.
"Davis," Whitaker whispered weakly lying on the floor. " You see that paperweight on the bookshelf?"
"Yah, sure, sure," said Davis.
"Well, grab it and beat down Sinep with it, it's our only hope!"
Davis, unfortunately, had been knocked out so hard he had forgotten about the events that led to this occurrence.
Sinep was busy holding the door shut from Flynn.
Flynn screamed for security and two female IT interns showed up at the mundane office door.
Recognizing his advantage over Davis, Sinep said, "Davis, open up the bookshelf. There's a secret compartment behind it. Throw Whitaker's body into it and close it! You can eat him if you want I guess."
Sinep opened the office door and grabbed Flynn and took her inside to stop the commotion. People were starting to notice.
"Look Fig bitch, I'm an Israeli Arab fighter, I've got this whole place wired to go down in 2 minutes! said Sinep."
Fig Bitch started pounding on the door so Sinep told Davis to wack her with the paperweight.
Davis sneaked up behind Fig Bitch and tripped her ankles. Then he sat on her face until that chest stopped moving in that tantalizing up down motion that had driven Davis to do insane things.
"Davis, said Sinep, This building is about to blow in a minute, I want to tell you that it is I who has your wife's skull and it feels soooooooo good."
Davis screamed and ran toward Sinep in anger. He punched him in the throat, then the stomach, then the genitals. Sinep fell to the floor.
Whitaker jumped out from behind the bookcase and started writing something on a piece of company stationary.
"What the FUCK ARE YOU DOING!" screamed Davis. "Davis grabbed his note and recited Whitaker's note in a childish voice of mockery.
"Sally, tell Geraldo that I'll always wash him in the bath, until he turns 16 at least. I love you so much. I know I'm not going to make it out of here alive. I've sort of been taken hostage by a crazed subordinate. The acid is under my night stand, take it at will. Love, Dennis."
"Awwww, Denny, what a tragedy huh. Look, you think I want to go down in this shithole?" Davis had Whitaker pinned against the wall, talking under his breath frantically, his face oh so close to Whitaker. His white shirtsleeves were ripped. His black tie was hanging crooked over his exposed chest.
"You were gonna send me out to see that woman weren't you? See her body torn apart like that. You know what I went through with my wife!"
Fig bitch stormed out of the office after regaining consciousness and screamed, "BOMB!"
Sirens flashed, workers jumped over their cubicles to try to get to the bottom floor in time.
Everyone rushed insatiably in one direction. Towards death.
The doors had all automatically locked shut. Everyone was trapped on the 11th floor of the New York City Crime Investigation Agency.
Men in black armor stormed into the office level mowing everyone down in their path.
Bullets hit the light bulbs as each explosion announced the arrival of increased darkness.
In the office, Davis hurriedly slammed the door shut.
"Fuck you Whitaker" said Davis as he delivered the final blow to Whitaker's mortality.
As the police force broke down the office door, Davis crawled through the ceiling ductwork in the building.
He peered down from the ceiling to see Fig bitch dead on the floor.
So.... I walk over to her body, take off her pants, and steal the Fig newtons. Not bad I say as a bullet fly's past my head. A little melty but hey, in a war zone, anything goes. I walk over to the coffee machine, take a few swigs of the brown bile. Sick I thought, after I leave I am headed to Starbucks. I grabbed the glass pot and threw it at the ceiling.
Just then Davis fell through the ceiling, his face planted right between Fig bitches tits.
An office grabs him by the back of his shirt collar.
"You from around here?" the officer asks,
"No, no hell no I'm a vending machine repairman."
The lie didn't stick so well as the bullet did.
Just then there was a huge explosion that jolted everyone dead and alive into the wall....
"What the hell?" mumbled Sinep.
"5:30 already?
He switched his alarm clock off.
"Hell, that was a crazy ass nightmare. Jesus shit! And who the hell was the guy in the.... oh nevermind. He yelled for his wife Maria N. Coco.
"Honey? where's my toothbrush?"
"Well, darling it's right where you left it."
"And where is that?"
Her tone turned angry.
"Davis called me at 4am. You were in his wife's bed last night. You had your toothbrush with you and everything. He called you know, I told you that, his wife, she isn't breathing. He's wondering if it's something that you did."
"What?" replied Sinep in a tone of great confusion.
He got in the car and drove by Davis's house. An arm was sticking out of the garbage can.
Requiem To Love
11.30.08
He was a cutter, he was a black and blue fool, she'd always cry. He was a friend of mine. He was also a little too unconventional for me. I've come to realize I'm far more abstract in mind than in action, the story of my life. But I ate it anyway. I remember in July, last July, oh July, I remember that dark night. Oak Island, walking through that pitch black field of dew.With him, with them. He was a shadow then physically too. The branches draped along the sidewalk by the river. They created a wall which I ran my hand along. I felt like a ghost with all that fog. Before we got back in the car I remember looking down that long bridge over the river to the island. I've never seen such darkness. Strange thing though, when I backed up and the headlights shone on the bridge, a man was walking over it. Walking into complete blackness, all alone, no reasons abound. For some reason I still think about that. We drove back downtown, I don't remember why, there were people there I guess at night. The people we knew and didn't yet know. It was incredibly warm out for 11:30 PM. The White Stripes sounded especially mystic that evening on the stereo, or was it the Album Leaf? Shit, like I remember. Who knows what I was on... or thinking. I definitely wasn't thinking that's for sure. The dangerous yet short drive back to the empty 400 Block was so peaceful. I love driving at night with the windows open. With ambient sounds blaring. And I did. We met some friends on the sidewalk there and he told me we should park the car. The one guy with the blonde hair, well, he was on all sorts of things. The pills he spoke of. He should be a doctor. I kept thinking about if he saw me as a hallucination, if he saw my face contorting in ways it should never... I pondered perception. He was damn near dead I think. His girlfriend was standing next to him, on the same prescriptions I presumed. She started talking to me, she was incredibly beautiful. I didn't think girls that look like her did things like this. I wondered what our small group of rag tag individuals looked like from 200 feet above. I wondered about the world outside. She was talking to me about my shirt, her mother, the look in my eyes, the world outside. The other four people I was with started to walk away into the downtown night. My waning dose of THC was no match against her raging river of barbiturate insanity. I didn't want to be there alone with her though. What the fuck I thought, where are they going. I told her we'd better go. The boyfriend, the car, the time. Paranoia was planting its seed in my brain. She started to touch my hand. I itched my eye. I wondered what she was doing with that sad little blonde haired guy. The last time I saw him he was even worse off. The people I was with were about 400 feet ahead, I didn't want to start running, but if I didn't there was no way to catch up. She kept looking at me as we walked. If I had a cell phone I could have called them and said something like, wait up, or hey hold on. Ok, this is it I thought in ironic misery. I just wanted to die right there on the sidewalk. Let the theatergoers devour me after their tragedy is over. I wanted the curtain to fall on my life. I felt so calm and sanely serene. Yet, I wanted it to start pouring rain, I wanted to grab her and madly kiss her under the blinking theater marquee in the empty city center. There was a crumpled glowing cigarette laying on the sidewalk. As I got closer to it I kicked it off into the street instead. My car was parked just ahead along the road. Here's my chance for escape I thought. What was I thinking, I've got to take him home too, I can't just run away, or drive away in this case. I was out of it, my mind was someplace else. I didn't know what to do. I looked back at the car as I passed it. She told me she her dad's house is about two blocks away from here. They were ahead, the house was left about 2,000 feet. She spoke so nonchalant as if this happened every night. That scared me. In the silence I could still hear the reverberation of the church bells I had heard hours earlier. She grabbed my arm and said come on in a demanding playful kind of tone. Her voice echoed off of the buildings. I told her no, I can't do that. We caught up with the group by a cool black fountain. They were all sitting along ther perimeter of the fountain. A fierce wind blew. A storm was coming. Her boyfriend looked up at me with a simple, what's up dude kind of look. I wanted to drown him right there. I let out a hurricane exhale. I had to get away from her before she destroyed me with her smile. The friend I was with, he said he'd better get back home. We walked back to the car. I looked back, I looked back again. A street light flickered on above the car. We got in the car and we drove away. After all, he was a friend of mine.
He was a cutter, he was a black and blue fool, she'd always cry. He was a friend of mine. He was also a little too unconventional for me. I've come to realize I'm far more abstract in mind than in action, the story of my life. But I ate it anyway. I remember in July, last July, oh July, I remember that dark night. Oak Island, walking through that pitch black field of dew.With him, with them. He was a shadow then physically too. The branches draped along the sidewalk by the river. They created a wall which I ran my hand along. I felt like a ghost with all that fog. Before we got back in the car I remember looking down that long bridge over the river to the island. I've never seen such darkness. Strange thing though, when I backed up and the headlights shone on the bridge, a man was walking over it. Walking into complete blackness, all alone, no reasons abound. For some reason I still think about that. We drove back downtown, I don't remember why, there were people there I guess at night. The people we knew and didn't yet know. It was incredibly warm out for 11:30 PM. The White Stripes sounded especially mystic that evening on the stereo, or was it the Album Leaf? Shit, like I remember. Who knows what I was on... or thinking. I definitely wasn't thinking that's for sure. The dangerous yet short drive back to the empty 400 Block was so peaceful. I love driving at night with the windows open. With ambient sounds blaring. And I did. We met some friends on the sidewalk there and he told me we should park the car. The one guy with the blonde hair, well, he was on all sorts of things. The pills he spoke of. He should be a doctor. I kept thinking about if he saw me as a hallucination, if he saw my face contorting in ways it should never... I pondered perception. He was damn near dead I think. His girlfriend was standing next to him, on the same prescriptions I presumed. She started talking to me, she was incredibly beautiful. I didn't think girls that look like her did things like this. I wondered what our small group of rag tag individuals looked like from 200 feet above. I wondered about the world outside. She was talking to me about my shirt, her mother, the look in my eyes, the world outside. The other four people I was with started to walk away into the downtown night. My waning dose of THC was no match against her raging river of barbiturate insanity. I didn't want to be there alone with her though. What the fuck I thought, where are they going. I told her we'd better go. The boyfriend, the car, the time. Paranoia was planting its seed in my brain. She started to touch my hand. I itched my eye. I wondered what she was doing with that sad little blonde haired guy. The last time I saw him he was even worse off. The people I was with were about 400 feet ahead, I didn't want to start running, but if I didn't there was no way to catch up. She kept looking at me as we walked. If I had a cell phone I could have called them and said something like, wait up, or hey hold on. Ok, this is it I thought in ironic misery. I just wanted to die right there on the sidewalk. Let the theatergoers devour me after their tragedy is over. I wanted the curtain to fall on my life. I felt so calm and sanely serene. Yet, I wanted it to start pouring rain, I wanted to grab her and madly kiss her under the blinking theater marquee in the empty city center. There was a crumpled glowing cigarette laying on the sidewalk. As I got closer to it I kicked it off into the street instead. My car was parked just ahead along the road. Here's my chance for escape I thought. What was I thinking, I've got to take him home too, I can't just run away, or drive away in this case. I was out of it, my mind was someplace else. I didn't know what to do. I looked back at the car as I passed it. She told me she her dad's house is about two blocks away from here. They were ahead, the house was left about 2,000 feet. She spoke so nonchalant as if this happened every night. That scared me. In the silence I could still hear the reverberation of the church bells I had heard hours earlier. She grabbed my arm and said come on in a demanding playful kind of tone. Her voice echoed off of the buildings. I told her no, I can't do that. We caught up with the group by a cool black fountain. They were all sitting along ther perimeter of the fountain. A fierce wind blew. A storm was coming. Her boyfriend looked up at me with a simple, what's up dude kind of look. I wanted to drown him right there. I let out a hurricane exhale. I had to get away from her before she destroyed me with her smile. The friend I was with, he said he'd better get back home. We walked back to the car. I looked back, I looked back again. A street light flickered on above the car. We got in the car and we drove away. After all, he was a friend of mine.
Feeling For The Lightswitch In The Dark
12.07.08
It is the molecule of the soul. Floating above my head just out of reach as the fiber of life contracts around me like static electricity during a blinding lightning storm... and the sky is darkening outside...violet, vanilla, gentle?... The whole time I'm sitting in the club, in the corner alone, big black hat over my eyes, silent obsession, sitting in a swamp of pulsating light, with a cigarette fog rolling through. I'm feeding the illusion, what else can I do? The lights fade to a brown murky haze as I look up at an attractive female waitress walking by. I signal her to bring me another manhattan. As she's walking over to the bar a smooth jazz band starts playing which seems to make the whole building float over water. I can feel it under my feet. The manhattan arrives and I look out the window onto the busy nighttime street, tears of rain streaming down the pane as a burst of thunder overpowers the sound of the jazz band. With the orange hue of a street light on my face I think about Bill, I think about Marie and how I've got nothing to do today but smile. I wonder where they are now. Dead at the bottom of a blood red river, swept off their feet on a primordial beach somewhere, fighting in a heroic battle on the sweeping plains below the highest mountain in the universe perhaps. I come out of my trance thought and dive my hands into the pockets of my gray long coat as the thunder seeps into the club. I take a drink and laugh to myself realizing what I've found in there. I look up again as the tone of the music turns slightly melancholy. I thought I recognized him but it was someone else. A foreigner perhaps. Attack the Russians? Are you kidding me, I know those people! Damn the New York Times. I pull the pipe out of my coat and study it on the table surface leaning forward. Shit, this is the one from the night with the tranny strippers on 53rd! I roll up the resin into a ball and attempt to light it. This shit was potent, there was something else in it. Something from the wild. Something....something of insanity coursed through my mind. Probably the bits and pieces of my lung as I hack violently from the inhalation of it. I fall back onto the seatback and blow it out my mouth. Looking back out the window, hmmm.... I wonder what's become of me. Mother? Father? I want you to come and find me here. Find me like this, your experiment gone wrong. My biggest fear... you catching me masturbating. How trite I had become. How beautiful mistakes can be though. As night falls, I sit and go deeper into the caverns of my frantic mind. I think the club patrons are looking at me. I look out the window as an arc of lightning slices the eternal night. Lucifer save me! I cry into my drink reflecting my face. Marilyn Monroe walked by my table as a skeleton. Come here, come here I cry out. I'm the young man in the 22nd row who see's you as something more than sexual, more than just our Marilyn Monroe! Like she knew what that meant. The jazz band playing earlier is filing out the front door into the moist summer night of neon lugging their instruments behind their back like actors in a forgotten movie. An acoustic loner takes the stage doing a rousing rendition of Homeward Bound by Simon and Garfunkel. I stumble over to the stage laughing crazily as I turn my head to look back at my seat. The entire place elongates in my mind, it looked a million miles away. I crawl around and make paranoid jolts with my head. Jesus, fifteen miles to Marlboro Heights and I'm smoker of the month! 6 foot cigarettes, butane lighters right to my lip, oh the humanity! People surround me, looking at me, pointing, the guitarist even stops to look what's the matter.The whole experience turns discordant and upside down. I begin to sob on the floor, the overhead lights shining harshly on me, purple shifting to blue to white. I had to get out of this trap. I was like a rat in some experiment. I looked up and a panoramic of eyes looked at me like I was some diseased rabid animal. Get out of here one of them said and they all turned back to the guitarist, mumbling amongst themselves. How did I get over here I thought. I stumbled back over to my table, avoiding crashing into all the non- existent cactus branches. I threw the glass of manhattan on the floor and gave them all the finger. Probably the wrong one but they got it alright. I scrawled out on a napkin with a half broken pen, "goodbye all you beautiful people, i'll see you on the other side!" "There!," I screamed," this one's on me." I took out my wallet and threw it into the expanding alcohol puddle before kicking the glass door open with my black leather boot and out onto the streets of dashing chaos, walking like an Egyptian insect, prayin' mantis, cough- cough. Things always get so out of hand wherever I go. Insanity builds crazy skyscrapers in my conscious, God fiddles my brain with old angel wings. A Nike ad flashes across a screen in midtown. Just do it I automatically thought. Auto -suggestion.... Just do it... I realize I turn into this person each night. As I gaze up at the towering buildings and flashing ads in a mind numbing stupor, the hallucinations intensify. Marilyn..... marilyn.... marilyn.... marilyn.... your candle burned out long before, your legend.... ever did. The lights all wrap around my head, a schizo- panoramic. The firefighters rush past me in a hurry, a slow motion of sweet dreams. I imagine myself in the end of a movie; the camera zooming out above me. The audience erupting into manic cheers. Manic cheers, manic cheers. I remember.... you've got to keep dreaming the dream even after you wake up. And I can't remember the last time I slept.
It is the molecule of the soul. Floating above my head just out of reach as the fiber of life contracts around me like static electricity during a blinding lightning storm... and the sky is darkening outside...violet, vanilla, gentle?... The whole time I'm sitting in the club, in the corner alone, big black hat over my eyes, silent obsession, sitting in a swamp of pulsating light, with a cigarette fog rolling through. I'm feeding the illusion, what else can I do? The lights fade to a brown murky haze as I look up at an attractive female waitress walking by. I signal her to bring me another manhattan. As she's walking over to the bar a smooth jazz band starts playing which seems to make the whole building float over water. I can feel it under my feet. The manhattan arrives and I look out the window onto the busy nighttime street, tears of rain streaming down the pane as a burst of thunder overpowers the sound of the jazz band. With the orange hue of a street light on my face I think about Bill, I think about Marie and how I've got nothing to do today but smile. I wonder where they are now. Dead at the bottom of a blood red river, swept off their feet on a primordial beach somewhere, fighting in a heroic battle on the sweeping plains below the highest mountain in the universe perhaps. I come out of my trance thought and dive my hands into the pockets of my gray long coat as the thunder seeps into the club. I take a drink and laugh to myself realizing what I've found in there. I look up again as the tone of the music turns slightly melancholy. I thought I recognized him but it was someone else. A foreigner perhaps. Attack the Russians? Are you kidding me, I know those people! Damn the New York Times. I pull the pipe out of my coat and study it on the table surface leaning forward. Shit, this is the one from the night with the tranny strippers on 53rd! I roll up the resin into a ball and attempt to light it. This shit was potent, there was something else in it. Something from the wild. Something....something of insanity coursed through my mind. Probably the bits and pieces of my lung as I hack violently from the inhalation of it. I fall back onto the seatback and blow it out my mouth. Looking back out the window, hmmm.... I wonder what's become of me. Mother? Father? I want you to come and find me here. Find me like this, your experiment gone wrong. My biggest fear... you catching me masturbating. How trite I had become. How beautiful mistakes can be though. As night falls, I sit and go deeper into the caverns of my frantic mind. I think the club patrons are looking at me. I look out the window as an arc of lightning slices the eternal night. Lucifer save me! I cry into my drink reflecting my face. Marilyn Monroe walked by my table as a skeleton. Come here, come here I cry out. I'm the young man in the 22nd row who see's you as something more than sexual, more than just our Marilyn Monroe! Like she knew what that meant. The jazz band playing earlier is filing out the front door into the moist summer night of neon lugging their instruments behind their back like actors in a forgotten movie. An acoustic loner takes the stage doing a rousing rendition of Homeward Bound by Simon and Garfunkel. I stumble over to the stage laughing crazily as I turn my head to look back at my seat. The entire place elongates in my mind, it looked a million miles away. I crawl around and make paranoid jolts with my head. Jesus, fifteen miles to Marlboro Heights and I'm smoker of the month! 6 foot cigarettes, butane lighters right to my lip, oh the humanity! People surround me, looking at me, pointing, the guitarist even stops to look what's the matter.The whole experience turns discordant and upside down. I begin to sob on the floor, the overhead lights shining harshly on me, purple shifting to blue to white. I had to get out of this trap. I was like a rat in some experiment. I looked up and a panoramic of eyes looked at me like I was some diseased rabid animal. Get out of here one of them said and they all turned back to the guitarist, mumbling amongst themselves. How did I get over here I thought. I stumbled back over to my table, avoiding crashing into all the non- existent cactus branches. I threw the glass of manhattan on the floor and gave them all the finger. Probably the wrong one but they got it alright. I scrawled out on a napkin with a half broken pen, "goodbye all you beautiful people, i'll see you on the other side!" "There!," I screamed," this one's on me." I took out my wallet and threw it into the expanding alcohol puddle before kicking the glass door open with my black leather boot and out onto the streets of dashing chaos, walking like an Egyptian insect, prayin' mantis, cough- cough. Things always get so out of hand wherever I go. Insanity builds crazy skyscrapers in my conscious, God fiddles my brain with old angel wings. A Nike ad flashes across a screen in midtown. Just do it I automatically thought. Auto -suggestion.... Just do it... I realize I turn into this person each night. As I gaze up at the towering buildings and flashing ads in a mind numbing stupor, the hallucinations intensify. Marilyn..... marilyn.... marilyn.... marilyn.... your candle burned out long before, your legend.... ever did. The lights all wrap around my head, a schizo- panoramic. The firefighters rush past me in a hurry, a slow motion of sweet dreams. I imagine myself in the end of a movie; the camera zooming out above me. The audience erupting into manic cheers. Manic cheers, manic cheers. I remember.... you've got to keep dreaming the dream even after you wake up. And I can't remember the last time I slept.
Please.... .. .
12.28.08
Good day sunshine, you're out there doping for gold. I see your shaking reflection in the black plastic. You stand behind me like a backwards explosion; a sick outcast. My head is in the sink and the water is running. What is that coming through the speakers? Subdued techno? Some steady ambient beat drenched in reverb. Whatever. My hair flips over my forehead as the water pressure increases. Fluorescent lights flicker across the high ceiling lines as I am saved from the wilderness. Walking over to the expanse, expanse of windows, seeing the rain pouring down, the country rain across this last respite of undeveloped land. I put my hands up to the glass and squint to deflect the rays, filters, and try to feel what it's like to be outside. Like a silent and fading dream, the rain falls, ambient wind blows the tree tops in the fogged out distance. So this is where peace has retreated to. To lay wounded. Peace as defined by treaties and flags is the world outside as they know it, I see it as vision, as machine guns in their sleek receptacles. Soaring energy over shadows my free-thoughts and the rays are defeated when the momentary clouds envelop the orifices facing the universe, rushing across the silver sky. What a strange thing it is to exist, to look up at infinity... and know... that it is beautiful. I sit down at the desk against the faux-titanium wall-- low- density, sleek... processing... I'm missing you now too and... please write, please write... Auto- reply.... please write... These moments diminish wave by wave-- so, so quickly. Smile so I know that you're in love with me, touch the screen, whisper. I wander back into the static leaving the desk chair spinning as the wind blows the door open. New exile, new homecoming. Peace is betrayed.
Good day sunshine, you're out there doping for gold. I see your shaking reflection in the black plastic. You stand behind me like a backwards explosion; a sick outcast. My head is in the sink and the water is running. What is that coming through the speakers? Subdued techno? Some steady ambient beat drenched in reverb. Whatever. My hair flips over my forehead as the water pressure increases. Fluorescent lights flicker across the high ceiling lines as I am saved from the wilderness. Walking over to the expanse, expanse of windows, seeing the rain pouring down, the country rain across this last respite of undeveloped land. I put my hands up to the glass and squint to deflect the rays, filters, and try to feel what it's like to be outside. Like a silent and fading dream, the rain falls, ambient wind blows the tree tops in the fogged out distance. So this is where peace has retreated to. To lay wounded. Peace as defined by treaties and flags is the world outside as they know it, I see it as vision, as machine guns in their sleek receptacles. Soaring energy over shadows my free-thoughts and the rays are defeated when the momentary clouds envelop the orifices facing the universe, rushing across the silver sky. What a strange thing it is to exist, to look up at infinity... and know... that it is beautiful. I sit down at the desk against the faux-titanium wall-- low- density, sleek... processing... I'm missing you now too and... please write, please write... Auto- reply.... please write... These moments diminish wave by wave-- so, so quickly. Smile so I know that you're in love with me, touch the screen, whisper. I wander back into the static leaving the desk chair spinning as the wind blows the door open. New exile, new homecoming. Peace is betrayed.
ATR
2.8.09
There's a paper tiger, held in the hands of Jabo, the glowing green child of the pristine orifice. At night he, we, take long travels through small places, every detail is ignored, our lives are subject to his leftover scrutiny. Burning flowers in the dark, silhouette in the eclipse, mother prays on broken knees for visions of fading pain, the reckless souls fly on by above, another waste in a wasted land. Who's the boy with all the answers, who's the boy who plays the gentleman's game? At dusk they go out walking, shrieking around the buildings, their flashlights echoing off their eyes like headlights, searching for the immortal Jabo which I have nothing inside of him, fucking the teacher, closing the blinds, getting off to Schindler's List, who knows the storyline anyway? Nazi's a type of bread. Tell me the secrets of your lies, tell me the paradise behind your eyes. He burns the roses on his knees, the moon looks sad. Flames lick above the stem, his eyes through them, mouth moves and says I love the way she moves. There they go again, tripping through the lines, following nothing. The backlog of magazine and newspapers piled high in the corner of the austere room, a beam of light through the blackout curtain, bodies lay here, put down by the orifice, oh holy, holy cycle, you know I've walked through your falling leaves like a lost, circling soldier. A soldier on a lonely, empty sidewalk, west side. But, regardless, this way, that way, the way needs a kiss, a naked truth, I know you're out there waiting but I'm busy they say, I have feelings only for myself and those I hate. Jabo, where has he gone now. Track him like a stolen piece a art, giving up until everyone's shot, paper tiger stand up now, make your moves. I'm on the line, off the pill, living in a lonely place. The sounds come through, I'm lookin at the moon tonight, tonight, tonight, tonight, on the moon tonight, tonight, tonight, tinnitus in space, a silent affliction, smudged marquee orbs in my watering eyes. Glowing in a freakshow, eruptions all around. Got the thorn of crowns. Nice and tight, on the stage, white lights flashing above all the doors, people running, falling, dying out to the street like I like, what I like? Defense has fallen, paper tiger's on the run, everyone's glued to their seats, their screens, Jabo's a discontinued product of my mind-- I'm still fucking the teacher. Come out like a ghost, go in like a priest, pray like a prophet, kill like a saint. What'd they say?
There's a paper tiger, held in the hands of Jabo, the glowing green child of the pristine orifice. At night he, we, take long travels through small places, every detail is ignored, our lives are subject to his leftover scrutiny. Burning flowers in the dark, silhouette in the eclipse, mother prays on broken knees for visions of fading pain, the reckless souls fly on by above, another waste in a wasted land. Who's the boy with all the answers, who's the boy who plays the gentleman's game? At dusk they go out walking, shrieking around the buildings, their flashlights echoing off their eyes like headlights, searching for the immortal Jabo which I have nothing inside of him, fucking the teacher, closing the blinds, getting off to Schindler's List, who knows the storyline anyway? Nazi's a type of bread. Tell me the secrets of your lies, tell me the paradise behind your eyes. He burns the roses on his knees, the moon looks sad. Flames lick above the stem, his eyes through them, mouth moves and says I love the way she moves. There they go again, tripping through the lines, following nothing. The backlog of magazine and newspapers piled high in the corner of the austere room, a beam of light through the blackout curtain, bodies lay here, put down by the orifice, oh holy, holy cycle, you know I've walked through your falling leaves like a lost, circling soldier. A soldier on a lonely, empty sidewalk, west side. But, regardless, this way, that way, the way needs a kiss, a naked truth, I know you're out there waiting but I'm busy they say, I have feelings only for myself and those I hate. Jabo, where has he gone now. Track him like a stolen piece a art, giving up until everyone's shot, paper tiger stand up now, make your moves. I'm on the line, off the pill, living in a lonely place. The sounds come through, I'm lookin at the moon tonight, tonight, tonight, tonight, on the moon tonight, tonight, tonight, tinnitus in space, a silent affliction, smudged marquee orbs in my watering eyes. Glowing in a freakshow, eruptions all around. Got the thorn of crowns. Nice and tight, on the stage, white lights flashing above all the doors, people running, falling, dying out to the street like I like, what I like? Defense has fallen, paper tiger's on the run, everyone's glued to their seats, their screens, Jabo's a discontinued product of my mind-- I'm still fucking the teacher. Come out like a ghost, go in like a priest, pray like a prophet, kill like a saint. What'd they say?
Soldiers Don't Need Happy Endings...
2.10.09
A bus just crashed. A big yellow one. It smashed right into the stone barricade along the street. A couple of kids bloodied body's lay on the side of the street, the bus driver's head is on the steering wheel, blood splattered all over the large windshield in front of her.... wait, I sense this impending scene of doom before I turn around to gaze back at the sound that has permeated my skull. A sound of smashing glass and squealing tires. Bending metal, screaming children, the brakes of the cars behind the bus also screaming. Me on the sidewalk, fate in the air. Who's going to stop I think. The bus is crashed over some concrete abutment, next to a faded and chipped mint green street light towering into the noon- day sky. Un-illuminated. There's a bunch of children running off the bus, the bus driver, as I had thought, her head was basically rolling around on the edge of the road. The stop sign of the bus was extended and everyone was sitting in their cars waiting for the crashed bus to withdraw so they could continue. Each one in their A/C, cell phone, utopia. One child picked up the drivers head and was trying to attach it back on the drivers body.... A man in a silver sedan pulled along the bus, a cop sped by the bus, sirens blaring, tracking down a speeder in a speed trap; part of the tangled web of social lies. Another fly in the web, just flying by. But now were caught in the trap, the machine, waiting for the big daddy to come home, pluck us from his web, roll us up in his green dollar sarcophagus, eight legs of fear. The man jumps out of the silver sedan, his spaceship of the road, and proceeds to throw bloodied children into his... trunk? Wtf crosses my mind as does the thin bitch with the pink bag walking by me on the sidewalk. I'm sitting by a tree, off the sidewalk of this busy thoroughfare. After the man throws about seven kids into the trunk, he speeds off somewhere down the road, beyond my viewpoint. I lay down on the grass, look up at the sky, hands behind my head. Got some cheap binoculars aimed at the sky, trying to find angry angels I guess. A police car cordons off the area, ignores me, takes the remaining dead bodies, opens a manhole cover, throws them into it, fucks the headless bus driver and drives away. Nice, I thought. A strong, alien wind blows. One of those winds that has a cold feeling to it, one that if you were standing up, just might knock you over. I get up to wander away and my phone rings, or vibrates. I grab it out of my pocket after a couple vibrations. Sometimes, it just makes your balls feel good. A calm voice on the other line says, "hey, come here. 15 blocks, NW." I begin walking as the bus explodes behind me. Walking as the world explodes behind me. Figuratively, unfortunately. I'd always like to be the guy walking, chilled- out, away from an exploding metropolis, with the towers burning behind me. One of the guys with the reflections of fire in his aviator glasses, hot on the trot of filthy, utilitarian post- apocalyptic sex. Toxic ash in the streets, strippers named Destiny, Anastasia, Porsche, blown out limousines on fire, lost dogs with leashes on. Livin' to love, lovin' to hate. You know we're barkin' up the wrong tree. There's a lot to hate. But I love some things. I love the parking lots at dusk, I love how the streets lights flicker on in the heat of the night, I love the writing in the sidewalk, the world behind the windows, the faces behind the masks, the struggle, the fight, the impossible. I love the pit of the stomach feeling too, it's the internal bubble moving upward, slowly fading into an unreachable oblivion. I call it love. Or the love of hatred. Whichever. There are few things more spiritually moving than sitting with someone you love, in an isolated smoke- filled basement room, half incoherent, naked with the TV on, the sheets halfway withdrawn, dreaming of tomorrow. But out there on the cold, mean streets aren't we just like all the other people passing by on the road to nowhere. On the phone, in the air conditioning, with the fast food on the passenger seat, screaming at the kids in the backseat, lighting up a J in the rec room, fucking the babysitter, debating about getting rid of cable, sleeping in the toxic lullaby of pharmaceutical bliss, sitting in the morning traffic jam, breathing in fumes, ants going into the machine, love is for teenagers, FOX news, no news, blackout, whiteout, big sale, no sale, dollar off, free gift, love is free, hate makes your skin wrinkle, buy now, save up, spend more, spend less, love more, hate less, flush when your done and turn off the lights. I'm starting to get used to this, and I say bless you, all you beautiful, beautiful people.
A bus just crashed. A big yellow one. It smashed right into the stone barricade along the street. A couple of kids bloodied body's lay on the side of the street, the bus driver's head is on the steering wheel, blood splattered all over the large windshield in front of her.... wait, I sense this impending scene of doom before I turn around to gaze back at the sound that has permeated my skull. A sound of smashing glass and squealing tires. Bending metal, screaming children, the brakes of the cars behind the bus also screaming. Me on the sidewalk, fate in the air. Who's going to stop I think. The bus is crashed over some concrete abutment, next to a faded and chipped mint green street light towering into the noon- day sky. Un-illuminated. There's a bunch of children running off the bus, the bus driver, as I had thought, her head was basically rolling around on the edge of the road. The stop sign of the bus was extended and everyone was sitting in their cars waiting for the crashed bus to withdraw so they could continue. Each one in their A/C, cell phone, utopia. One child picked up the drivers head and was trying to attach it back on the drivers body.... A man in a silver sedan pulled along the bus, a cop sped by the bus, sirens blaring, tracking down a speeder in a speed trap; part of the tangled web of social lies. Another fly in the web, just flying by. But now were caught in the trap, the machine, waiting for the big daddy to come home, pluck us from his web, roll us up in his green dollar sarcophagus, eight legs of fear. The man jumps out of the silver sedan, his spaceship of the road, and proceeds to throw bloodied children into his... trunk? Wtf crosses my mind as does the thin bitch with the pink bag walking by me on the sidewalk. I'm sitting by a tree, off the sidewalk of this busy thoroughfare. After the man throws about seven kids into the trunk, he speeds off somewhere down the road, beyond my viewpoint. I lay down on the grass, look up at the sky, hands behind my head. Got some cheap binoculars aimed at the sky, trying to find angry angels I guess. A police car cordons off the area, ignores me, takes the remaining dead bodies, opens a manhole cover, throws them into it, fucks the headless bus driver and drives away. Nice, I thought. A strong, alien wind blows. One of those winds that has a cold feeling to it, one that if you were standing up, just might knock you over. I get up to wander away and my phone rings, or vibrates. I grab it out of my pocket after a couple vibrations. Sometimes, it just makes your balls feel good. A calm voice on the other line says, "hey, come here. 15 blocks, NW." I begin walking as the bus explodes behind me. Walking as the world explodes behind me. Figuratively, unfortunately. I'd always like to be the guy walking, chilled- out, away from an exploding metropolis, with the towers burning behind me. One of the guys with the reflections of fire in his aviator glasses, hot on the trot of filthy, utilitarian post- apocalyptic sex. Toxic ash in the streets, strippers named Destiny, Anastasia, Porsche, blown out limousines on fire, lost dogs with leashes on. Livin' to love, lovin' to hate. You know we're barkin' up the wrong tree. There's a lot to hate. But I love some things. I love the parking lots at dusk, I love how the streets lights flicker on in the heat of the night, I love the writing in the sidewalk, the world behind the windows, the faces behind the masks, the struggle, the fight, the impossible. I love the pit of the stomach feeling too, it's the internal bubble moving upward, slowly fading into an unreachable oblivion. I call it love. Or the love of hatred. Whichever. There are few things more spiritually moving than sitting with someone you love, in an isolated smoke- filled basement room, half incoherent, naked with the TV on, the sheets halfway withdrawn, dreaming of tomorrow. But out there on the cold, mean streets aren't we just like all the other people passing by on the road to nowhere. On the phone, in the air conditioning, with the fast food on the passenger seat, screaming at the kids in the backseat, lighting up a J in the rec room, fucking the babysitter, debating about getting rid of cable, sleeping in the toxic lullaby of pharmaceutical bliss, sitting in the morning traffic jam, breathing in fumes, ants going into the machine, love is for teenagers, FOX news, no news, blackout, whiteout, big sale, no sale, dollar off, free gift, love is free, hate makes your skin wrinkle, buy now, save up, spend more, spend less, love more, hate less, flush when your done and turn off the lights. I'm starting to get used to this, and I say bless you, all you beautiful, beautiful people.
Got To Roll Me
2.10.09
I'm trapped in this place. Streets are gray, black broken glass. Dying widows stare out of second story broken windows, curtains flapping out into the unbearable wind. Someone get me off of this concrete island, this meaningless place. This place, this room, is so dark and cold. The people are like aliens, everything exudes invisible waves of dread. All voices have vanished into some other dimension. I'll always have to return here, I'm bound to this invisible place in body and soul. Nothing is good enough that's made in here, nothing will ever satisfy. They're always listening, toggling between dark extremes as I'm shrinking from the inside, stretched to hideous proportions, too beautiful to know. The people on the outside are too absorbed, incredibly unreachable, while I starve for a strangers hand. Nothing is ever right, nothing can ever be made to please, ideals have taken over and each step bones will break, feelings will be eliminated, glass will shatter. Acceptance is not an option, only the best will do, only the worst will show, only I will fall asleep in another room, another dream, another strong, cold, wind from the bare trees waving. Smiling in their elusive expressions, part of everything forever as the hours drag.
I'm trapped in this place. Streets are gray, black broken glass. Dying widows stare out of second story broken windows, curtains flapping out into the unbearable wind. Someone get me off of this concrete island, this meaningless place. This place, this room, is so dark and cold. The people are like aliens, everything exudes invisible waves of dread. All voices have vanished into some other dimension. I'll always have to return here, I'm bound to this invisible place in body and soul. Nothing is good enough that's made in here, nothing will ever satisfy. They're always listening, toggling between dark extremes as I'm shrinking from the inside, stretched to hideous proportions, too beautiful to know. The people on the outside are too absorbed, incredibly unreachable, while I starve for a strangers hand. Nothing is ever right, nothing can ever be made to please, ideals have taken over and each step bones will break, feelings will be eliminated, glass will shatter. Acceptance is not an option, only the best will do, only the worst will show, only I will fall asleep in another room, another dream, another strong, cold, wind from the bare trees waving. Smiling in their elusive expressions, part of everything forever as the hours drag.
Changing of the Shadow
2.20.09
My mind has been like a wartime leaflet dropped from the emerging dawn. The glowing hearts and bones on fire below, rising from the ashes, to my mother, standing in the shadows, all alone. Recently, we've craved the warmth, we've envisioned the ice stained pathways echoing the sun of a deeper, more blue day. We each envision us with someone else, someone happier, someone who can find all the answers for us on that perfect day. After all, what could be more perfect than a cloudless, summer day with the most perfectly dancing souls to ignite its power? From our nearly lucid daydream, we've returned to the same drifting fields of white, the cold still offering its passionless grip, we let it grab us, unloved in loveless hands. the bare trees evoke a desperate sign, the brick walls are a beacon of warmth and safety. Here, humanity is the only respite, sealed inside of stone, a germ- ridden sarcophagus. But, don't worry, we're here to do the best we can. The wilderness behind our backs is shifting in patterns we scarcely see, downtown, mecca, taj mahal, cough cough cough. The town is on fire like a burning piece of parchment around the edges, the inside is a goldmine, words spilling out of the garbage cans, something rare and no one's told. The scene couldn't be any more perfect, the story we've got here is too unbelievable to be told. The secret can never escape the lips of its few storyholders. We are the recipients of something extolled by forces unseen to most, we are its keepers, we are its voice, its light. We will take its life with our own when the time strikes danger. It's taken on a life of its own, it's the mummified prince of the dawn, stomping in his ancient boots, walking on down the hall, opening the door to sister merlin in a slipstream, there's cross hairs on the walls. We plead for anything that can break the chain of madness around our feet. Am I your placebo, beautiful? Am I your silent fix? Do you know the beginning and end of what is sacred? You swallow the truth like the fish under the ice, into some blank, black cove, starved of oxygen and life. No one is safe on the outside or the inside, c'mon baby meet me in my pants before we both die in this place. The Earth is a spaceship doomed to never return to its maker, we are its prisoners, ambient beings in the changing of the shadows. We never asked for this, we don't know why we came from where we came from. We're like the Russian dolls, trapped inside of each other, smaller and smaller until the smallest eeks out a hole in the frozen realm and screams, "God, what made you betray us!" The thin layer of sanity, though it reflects the beauty of life, can tear so easily, let the bastards through it and the whole place goes down in flames, choking the survivors on its rancid, though beautiful smoke. Now, someone take my hand, show me to the door, get me out of this trap and put me in another one. I'll be back, I'll be more fucked up than the last time, and I'll have words for each of you.
My mind has been like a wartime leaflet dropped from the emerging dawn. The glowing hearts and bones on fire below, rising from the ashes, to my mother, standing in the shadows, all alone. Recently, we've craved the warmth, we've envisioned the ice stained pathways echoing the sun of a deeper, more blue day. We each envision us with someone else, someone happier, someone who can find all the answers for us on that perfect day. After all, what could be more perfect than a cloudless, summer day with the most perfectly dancing souls to ignite its power? From our nearly lucid daydream, we've returned to the same drifting fields of white, the cold still offering its passionless grip, we let it grab us, unloved in loveless hands. the bare trees evoke a desperate sign, the brick walls are a beacon of warmth and safety. Here, humanity is the only respite, sealed inside of stone, a germ- ridden sarcophagus. But, don't worry, we're here to do the best we can. The wilderness behind our backs is shifting in patterns we scarcely see, downtown, mecca, taj mahal, cough cough cough. The town is on fire like a burning piece of parchment around the edges, the inside is a goldmine, words spilling out of the garbage cans, something rare and no one's told. The scene couldn't be any more perfect, the story we've got here is too unbelievable to be told. The secret can never escape the lips of its few storyholders. We are the recipients of something extolled by forces unseen to most, we are its keepers, we are its voice, its light. We will take its life with our own when the time strikes danger. It's taken on a life of its own, it's the mummified prince of the dawn, stomping in his ancient boots, walking on down the hall, opening the door to sister merlin in a slipstream, there's cross hairs on the walls. We plead for anything that can break the chain of madness around our feet. Am I your placebo, beautiful? Am I your silent fix? Do you know the beginning and end of what is sacred? You swallow the truth like the fish under the ice, into some blank, black cove, starved of oxygen and life. No one is safe on the outside or the inside, c'mon baby meet me in my pants before we both die in this place. The Earth is a spaceship doomed to never return to its maker, we are its prisoners, ambient beings in the changing of the shadows. We never asked for this, we don't know why we came from where we came from. We're like the Russian dolls, trapped inside of each other, smaller and smaller until the smallest eeks out a hole in the frozen realm and screams, "God, what made you betray us!" The thin layer of sanity, though it reflects the beauty of life, can tear so easily, let the bastards through it and the whole place goes down in flames, choking the survivors on its rancid, though beautiful smoke. Now, someone take my hand, show me to the door, get me out of this trap and put me in another one. I'll be back, I'll be more fucked up than the last time, and I'll have words for each of you.
Fingers through yr hair
2.24.09
Around the bend into the trees along the river, there in the backseat, the stars flood through the glass. March is coming, I am old. I am older than some things. Many things are older. I take them in and I carry them in a beautiful box with me wherever I may go. Showing them to careless travelers, ignorance of bliss, they with their car as their exoskeleton down the highway. May flies through June and I pick up all of the pieces. Too cold to see your face, too hot to want to see it. The days wind through the years, time becoming a more distant friend, I miss your face, I miss my chances I had. The cold is coming again, the winds will blow somehow from the north and nobody, nobody will ever understand why. But here and now in my Greek dreams, the sun has set and the cold has set in my bones. Foolish thoughts have come and gone, chances not taken, rum undrinkable. Quiet beauty presses against my soul, washed away in sleep, love under the bridge-- love under the gun. Though I've gone so far, so far over the line, and I can't come back-- let me feel your love one more time-- before I disappear.
Around the bend into the trees along the river, there in the backseat, the stars flood through the glass. March is coming, I am old. I am older than some things. Many things are older. I take them in and I carry them in a beautiful box with me wherever I may go. Showing them to careless travelers, ignorance of bliss, they with their car as their exoskeleton down the highway. May flies through June and I pick up all of the pieces. Too cold to see your face, too hot to want to see it. The days wind through the years, time becoming a more distant friend, I miss your face, I miss my chances I had. The cold is coming again, the winds will blow somehow from the north and nobody, nobody will ever understand why. But here and now in my Greek dreams, the sun has set and the cold has set in my bones. Foolish thoughts have come and gone, chances not taken, rum undrinkable. Quiet beauty presses against my soul, washed away in sleep, love under the bridge-- love under the gun. Though I've gone so far, so far over the line, and I can't come back-- let me feel your love one more time-- before I disappear.
Surrounded
2.28.09
I'm breathing heavier now, now that time has taken a little more of my dignity. I'm talking slower now, now that I've learned to think. I think I've learned to think about many things never taught to me--things that just happened. Like the thunder-- or the experience, THE experience. I remember, when me and you would sing. I was in love-- with you of all people. Undeserving at best, undeserving of your intense beauty, undeserving of my confusion. I, deep in the binge, blue in the face, staring at the canaries in the white cage. The rain would echo our voices after it all, out on the empty street, hand in hand in the remnants of the hot, moist air with hazy sky blowing east over the damp buildings. The whole time the world calling themselves 'awake'. I was in slow-mo, surrounded by reality, a place I still know little of. The closest I got to truth was holding your hand, thinking about your dreams. The world was at the mercy of their monotonous alarm, chained to a machine, all decisions an illusion. With you, I first realized this. I had never been so happy or so alive. I then knew I could never play the game, I knew I could never go back. Back to the empty room, back to the empty street to look for your eyes. The density that you brought to me was suffocating and I wanted to die-- in a good way, not that death could be good or bad, it just is. I just am, I just wanted to run the numbers one more time in my laboratory that you hated, I just wanted to make sure I wasn't completely dreaming. Then you'd walk out from me in the restaurant, only the best ones. I would sit as the world went in fast forward, everything moving erratically, watching the sun arc across the sky in seconds. Over and over again, the haze of thoughts encompassed my existence leading my mind to devoid worlds far away, so many blank pages and sentimental alleyways with cold comforts. I'd walk through the park, the moon arcing across the sky, thoughts racing, people running, looking at my speeding feet. Then I would wake up and call out your name the next morning, living in hell-- not believing in heaven anymore. The past is screaming away, becoming fainter, your face is seered in my existence. I'm branded with your marks, poisoned by your breath, still unable to put the experience of the passion into coherent sentences. I'm running out of time, out here with the lights in my hands. I am a child. I am a child.
I'm breathing heavier now, now that time has taken a little more of my dignity. I'm talking slower now, now that I've learned to think. I think I've learned to think about many things never taught to me--things that just happened. Like the thunder-- or the experience, THE experience. I remember, when me and you would sing. I was in love-- with you of all people. Undeserving at best, undeserving of your intense beauty, undeserving of my confusion. I, deep in the binge, blue in the face, staring at the canaries in the white cage. The rain would echo our voices after it all, out on the empty street, hand in hand in the remnants of the hot, moist air with hazy sky blowing east over the damp buildings. The whole time the world calling themselves 'awake'. I was in slow-mo, surrounded by reality, a place I still know little of. The closest I got to truth was holding your hand, thinking about your dreams. The world was at the mercy of their monotonous alarm, chained to a machine, all decisions an illusion. With you, I first realized this. I had never been so happy or so alive. I then knew I could never play the game, I knew I could never go back. Back to the empty room, back to the empty street to look for your eyes. The density that you brought to me was suffocating and I wanted to die-- in a good way, not that death could be good or bad, it just is. I just am, I just wanted to run the numbers one more time in my laboratory that you hated, I just wanted to make sure I wasn't completely dreaming. Then you'd walk out from me in the restaurant, only the best ones. I would sit as the world went in fast forward, everything moving erratically, watching the sun arc across the sky in seconds. Over and over again, the haze of thoughts encompassed my existence leading my mind to devoid worlds far away, so many blank pages and sentimental alleyways with cold comforts. I'd walk through the park, the moon arcing across the sky, thoughts racing, people running, looking at my speeding feet. Then I would wake up and call out your name the next morning, living in hell-- not believing in heaven anymore. The past is screaming away, becoming fainter, your face is seered in my existence. I'm branded with your marks, poisoned by your breath, still unable to put the experience of the passion into coherent sentences. I'm running out of time, out here with the lights in my hands. I am a child. I am a child.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)