another year of holidays, parties, drinks, travels, women, waves, shows, meals, classes, friends, births, deaths, marriages, divorces, storms, miracles, disasters, shoes, and feet.
this life has been just walking,
another year,
another step,
another moment,
another breath.
breaths are lifetimes,
coming and going,
again and again.
except for it always being so special,
it seems like the same thing over and over,
even this feeling,
this same time,
every year,
one foot in front of the other,
exhale,
one more year,
like soft clouds in the clear blue.
December 25, 2007
December 23, 2007
the wizard of oz
dinner tonight
the last of the old chips.
frozen chicken and corn.
mustard to lubricate
and salt
and beer.
company tonight
all of the old movies that i have already seen,
some from way back,
i remember them all.
when i was young,
i would set and gaze,
on breaks from school,
saturdays,
sundays.
the sound aside from that,
between the commercials
and the action of the cheap,
is the rain and wind,
seemingly set to tear down the buildings out here on the west side.
i imagine the echo of steps in the hall
to be the sound of feet
on the golden bricks.
i imagine i might wake up in my old house,
play in my old yard,
talk to the old friends
and the long lost family that has drifted so far.
back to the beer,
movie,
wind,
if i am brave enough,
i might step out into the gale
for a sip somewhere in the neighborhood.
it seems like this should be lonely,
especially for christmas,
but for now i feel blessed and warm.
when you drift around
for enough years,
it doesn't take much
to make you feel
right
at
home.
the last of the old chips.
frozen chicken and corn.
mustard to lubricate
and salt
and beer.
company tonight
all of the old movies that i have already seen,
some from way back,
i remember them all.
when i was young,
i would set and gaze,
on breaks from school,
saturdays,
sundays.
the sound aside from that,
between the commercials
and the action of the cheap,
is the rain and wind,
seemingly set to tear down the buildings out here on the west side.
i imagine the echo of steps in the hall
to be the sound of feet
on the golden bricks.
i imagine i might wake up in my old house,
play in my old yard,
talk to the old friends
and the long lost family that has drifted so far.
back to the beer,
movie,
wind,
if i am brave enough,
i might step out into the gale
for a sip somewhere in the neighborhood.
it seems like this should be lonely,
especially for christmas,
but for now i feel blessed and warm.
when you drift around
for enough years,
it doesn't take much
to make you feel
right
at
home.
solstice
only on this darkest night can i see so clear
the smallest sparks, the beautiful, lost lights.
only in the quietest room can i hear so well,
and listen to the longest off, farthest sounds,
and the closest ones too.
heart
lungs
blood
and even
the atmosphere, swimming around my ears
and the thousand
beautiful
lost
smallest sparks
as they light up the air
of the long night
and keep me
warm.
the smallest sparks, the beautiful, lost lights.
only in the quietest room can i hear so well,
and listen to the longest off, farthest sounds,
and the closest ones too.
heart
lungs
blood
and even
the atmosphere, swimming around my ears
and the thousand
beautiful
lost
smallest sparks
as they light up the air
of the long night
and keep me
warm.
December 13, 2007
dumbass?
right now is a mix af hail and freezing rain, and i am going to buy a surfboard in order to paddle out this weekend after the tempurature drops another 10 degrees. i hope it stops hailing at least.
December 12, 2007
cartoon sky
by the time you get all the way out,
12th avenue,
out of the midtown glare,
the cliffs of jersey across the cold, cold hudson
you can see stars
not stars like wilderness stars
not like maui stars
or ocean stars
just the big ones
just the clearest parts of the warriors and gods.
just the barest bones
skeleton of the sky
ribs glaring
bleached by moonlight
stripped by neon.
but still
the big ones make it through
the clearest lines of the warriors and gods.
just enough to make a decent show of things.
12th avenue,
out of the midtown glare,
the cliffs of jersey across the cold, cold hudson
you can see stars
not stars like wilderness stars
not like maui stars
or ocean stars
just the big ones
just the clearest parts of the warriors and gods.
just the barest bones
skeleton of the sky
ribs glaring
bleached by moonlight
stripped by neon.
but still
the big ones make it through
the clearest lines of the warriors and gods.
just enough to make a decent show of things.
this could be the one
all i can wonder is how
this collection of triggers
groupings of scratches
on the page
have come to mean so much.
an identity forms
separate from the beast
a whole new demon
and he's taken the wheel
mutiny!
stolen the office
and hands
and words
triggers
scratches
and now all that matters
is the search for more
more words
more lines, arranged
tore apart
anything to satisfy
the new lord of all of this
more words
for the woman to love
the friends to ogle
the others to shun
and make fun
of the new lord of all of this
the only fuel
is the search
and in this search
i have come to see fit
to write about
the search itself
these words
become the words
i was looking for all along.
and now i can finally stop looking.
i might.
this collection of triggers
groupings of scratches
on the page
have come to mean so much.
an identity forms
separate from the beast
a whole new demon
and he's taken the wheel
mutiny!
stolen the office
and hands
and words
triggers
scratches
and now all that matters
is the search for more
more words
more lines, arranged
tore apart
anything to satisfy
the new lord of all of this
more words
for the woman to love
the friends to ogle
the others to shun
and make fun
of the new lord of all of this
the only fuel
is the search
and in this search
i have come to see fit
to write about
the search itself
these words
become the words
i was looking for all along.
and now i can finally stop looking.
i might.
December 11, 2007
cowpie
it is good to know that there are at least a few folks that understand how many hours and days and years of drinking, working, walking, sitting and more it takes to make just one of these lines make sense to the heart.
until they make sense, they just don't sound quite right, and can't come out.
they were always there.
tickling fingertips.
teetering on the edge of the tongue.
just about to fall.
and then
when just the right amount of bullshit
enough steps, enough hours, enough beers
just the right amount
fills to the brim
plop!
some of the bullshit spills over
onto the page
into the keys
inside of words
like birth
or really
like pooping.
until they make sense, they just don't sound quite right, and can't come out.
they were always there.
tickling fingertips.
teetering on the edge of the tongue.
just about to fall.
and then
when just the right amount of bullshit
enough steps, enough hours, enough beers
just the right amount
fills to the brim
plop!
some of the bullshit spills over
onto the page
into the keys
inside of words
like birth
or really
like pooping.
December 10, 2007
mantra
hells kitchen, hells kitchen, kitchen kitchen, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
hells kitchen, hells kitchen, kitchen kitchen, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
hells kitchen, hells kitchen, kitchen kitchen, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
hells kitchen, hells kitchen, kitchen kitchen, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
hells kitchen, hells kitchen, kitchen kitchen, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
hells kitchen, hells kitchen, kitchen kitchen, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
hells kitchen, hells kitchen, kitchen kitchen, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
hells kitchen, hells kitchen, kitchen kitchen, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
hells kitchen, hells kitchen, kitchen kitchen, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
hells kitchen, hells kitchen, kitchen kitchen, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
hells kitchen, hells kitchen, kitchen kitchen, hells hells.
hells rump, hells rump, rump rump, hells hells.
mid town
the dregs
of the empire state
are hollering in the early evening,
just blue clouds
and alien arms outstretched
to beat down the cold of the premature darkness,
even of this,
what little there is to be had
could drown any second,
and wash away
in the river of lights
and ocean of sounds that are the city.
leaning out the window,
i let my eyes chase the dream and this one spearhead,
one sharp blade that cuts through the belly of all,
and stare down 42nd street
to the ailed heart
of the mobbing, throbbing beast.
having forsaken my salvation for the grip of the pavement,
the cracks in the asphalt,
the trickling scraps of paper and man,
it is all i can do today
to crawl back in from a week of this ride
and settle in for a moment,
an hour,
a breath,
a sip,
and listen
to the never ending hum,
hinting at the grinding of the gears deep underground,
below the trains,
below the rocks below the trains,
there has to be some spark
that set this place on fire,
way back,
way back before we agreed to do this here.
there is still some hint in the shimmer
to the fearless brawl that got the whole thing under way,
something fierce,
inexhaustible,
unquenchable,
some little flicker that won't quite be quelled,
but her evidence is saved for the eyes of the last lost ones,
the dogs and rats of the city
and this one final fatal flag.
the empire state,
buried in the baby fingers of a new borne empire,
we can only watch,
like the last mast of the great ship,
trickling under,
no wind ever devised could tickle the hull
back from the deep and across the sea.
it makes perfect sense from time to time.
other times it hurts worse than chewing on rocks.
fights, screams, sirens, yuppies, drinks, work, work, fucking, scams, takers, givers, garbage, smog, smokes, parties, work, drinks, work, drinks, fucking, food, freezing to the bone, boiling in oil, time spiring away like a dive bar shitter that hasn't been flushed all day long.
any second, any moment, whoosh!
all gone, all gone, all gone.
i wouldn't have missed it for the world.
of the empire state
are hollering in the early evening,
just blue clouds
and alien arms outstretched
to beat down the cold of the premature darkness,
even of this,
what little there is to be had
could drown any second,
and wash away
in the river of lights
and ocean of sounds that are the city.
leaning out the window,
i let my eyes chase the dream and this one spearhead,
one sharp blade that cuts through the belly of all,
and stare down 42nd street
to the ailed heart
of the mobbing, throbbing beast.
having forsaken my salvation for the grip of the pavement,
the cracks in the asphalt,
the trickling scraps of paper and man,
it is all i can do today
to crawl back in from a week of this ride
and settle in for a moment,
an hour,
a breath,
a sip,
and listen
to the never ending hum,
hinting at the grinding of the gears deep underground,
below the trains,
below the rocks below the trains,
there has to be some spark
that set this place on fire,
way back,
way back before we agreed to do this here.
there is still some hint in the shimmer
to the fearless brawl that got the whole thing under way,
something fierce,
inexhaustible,
unquenchable,
some little flicker that won't quite be quelled,
but her evidence is saved for the eyes of the last lost ones,
the dogs and rats of the city
and this one final fatal flag.
the empire state,
buried in the baby fingers of a new borne empire,
we can only watch,
like the last mast of the great ship,
trickling under,
no wind ever devised could tickle the hull
back from the deep and across the sea.
it makes perfect sense from time to time.
other times it hurts worse than chewing on rocks.
fights, screams, sirens, yuppies, drinks, work, work, fucking, scams, takers, givers, garbage, smog, smokes, parties, work, drinks, work, drinks, fucking, food, freezing to the bone, boiling in oil, time spiring away like a dive bar shitter that hasn't been flushed all day long.
any second, any moment, whoosh!
all gone, all gone, all gone.
i wouldn't have missed it for the world.
4:20 wakeup call
the crane twists the skyline,
ever higher, ever bolder.
somehow they see fit to begin at 7 am.
it makes about as much sense
as a midlife teen age boy
beating the pavement
with hooved feet
at three am
in search of another heart in this mist and muck.
no matter how high
no matter how bold
or early,
the muck is still going to be around you,
the vision still blurry at best.
that is until you have a heart
right on top of you.
then it is all crystal clear,
in the rush
to get there,
we forgot that the mist and the muck,
made it a worth while game.
more concrete.
two minutes to go.
20 years gone.
socks and shoes to disguise my cloven feet.
if only the cranes could have taken the day off.
or at least waited to start until noon.
ever higher, ever bolder.
somehow they see fit to begin at 7 am.
it makes about as much sense
as a midlife teen age boy
beating the pavement
with hooved feet
at three am
in search of another heart in this mist and muck.
no matter how high
no matter how bold
or early,
the muck is still going to be around you,
the vision still blurry at best.
that is until you have a heart
right on top of you.
then it is all crystal clear,
in the rush
to get there,
we forgot that the mist and the muck,
made it a worth while game.
more concrete.
two minutes to go.
20 years gone.
socks and shoes to disguise my cloven feet.
if only the cranes could have taken the day off.
or at least waited to start until noon.
December 8, 2007
prophecy
you might say that attention to
tiny
puny
insignificant
inconsequential
unimportant
finite
miniscule
infantile things is a waste.
einstien, jesus, ghandi
they might say
nothing
and continue to stare at the trees
walls
shoes
shoe-prints
specks
dust
nothing
everything.
they might have had less to drink
more to say
but really.
who are you fooling?
certainly not me.
tiny
puny
insignificant
inconsequential
unimportant
finite
miniscule
infantile things is a waste.
einstien, jesus, ghandi
they might say
nothing
and continue to stare at the trees
walls
shoes
shoe-prints
specks
dust
nothing
everything.
they might have had less to drink
more to say
but really.
who are you fooling?
certainly not me.
lifeline
led zeppelin
might not be the messiah.
but they are certainly a welcome
LIFELINE.
especially in this sea of nonsense.
that is not to say
for certain
that
they
are
not.
might not be the messiah.
but they are certainly a welcome
LIFELINE.
especially in this sea of nonsense.
that is not to say
for certain
that
they
are
not.
solutions
i am only fucked up.
after several hours of trying to make sense
because i can't taste
can't feel
can't smell
can't spell
i am only fucked up
looking in
looking out
sorting
or
at least
trying
i am only fucked up
heckling plants
from the corner
deciphering irradescent
colours
messages
from the flooded basements of brooklyn
and beyond
i am only fucked up
buffering simplest ears
against truth
saving smallest legs
from carrying
swallowing the most
swimming the deepest
saying the wrongest
tasting the worst, the best, the blandest, the hottest, the coldest, the newest, the oldest, the sharpest, the dullest, the quietest.
that might be the proof.
the quietest.
i can only devise,
assume
understand
that
i am fucked up.
after several hours of trying to make sense
because i can't taste
can't feel
can't smell
can't spell
i am only fucked up
looking in
looking out
sorting
or
at least
trying
i am only fucked up
heckling plants
from the corner
deciphering irradescent
colours
messages
from the flooded basements of brooklyn
and beyond
i am only fucked up
buffering simplest ears
against truth
saving smallest legs
from carrying
swallowing the most
swimming the deepest
saying the wrongest
tasting the worst, the best, the blandest, the hottest, the coldest, the newest, the oldest, the sharpest, the dullest, the quietest.
that might be the proof.
the quietest.
i can only devise,
assume
understand
that
i am fucked up.
December 7, 2007
marriage
marriage is restful.
comfortable.
sleep.
i sit on the balcony
a few stories up
below this frozen moon.
i sip on cigarrettes,
and watch the world of ants below,
as they chase thier cabs,
trains,
busses,
doorways,
eachother.
i watch them struggle.
kill the flame,
stamp out the smoke.
back to bed.
sleep.
i dream of the struggle,
i would miss it
but i know
i will be
back in it
soon enough.
comfortable.
sleep.
i sit on the balcony
a few stories up
below this frozen moon.
i sip on cigarrettes,
and watch the world of ants below,
as they chase thier cabs,
trains,
busses,
doorways,
eachother.
i watch them struggle.
kill the flame,
stamp out the smoke.
back to bed.
sleep.
i dream of the struggle,
i would miss it
but i know
i will be
back in it
soon enough.
world record.
i am sure that it was a falling building.
a crashing bus, or plane.
the sound of ten thousand tons.
floor shaking.
windows rattling.
maybe it was a crane collapsing in the cold dark of an early new york morning.
i am sure we will hear about it on the news.
see it in the daily rags.
see folks' eyes dart around in terror,
the only way they could get more keyed up than they already are
on cabs,
trains,
buildings,
people,
people.
endless sea of people.
maybe it was a sink hole.
a terror bomb.
i can't be sure just yet,
but i am sure that something
loud
violent
destructive
has pulled me from my sleep.
what's that smell?
oh, shit!
well almost.
i hope this girl next to me doesn't wake up,
and throw me out of the house
for being the dog
that i am.
that must have been the biggest fart ever.
a crashing bus, or plane.
the sound of ten thousand tons.
floor shaking.
windows rattling.
maybe it was a crane collapsing in the cold dark of an early new york morning.
i am sure we will hear about it on the news.
see it in the daily rags.
see folks' eyes dart around in terror,
the only way they could get more keyed up than they already are
on cabs,
trains,
buildings,
people,
people.
endless sea of people.
maybe it was a sink hole.
a terror bomb.
i can't be sure just yet,
but i am sure that something
loud
violent
destructive
has pulled me from my sleep.
what's that smell?
oh, shit!
well almost.
i hope this girl next to me doesn't wake up,
and throw me out of the house
for being the dog
that i am.
that must have been the biggest fart ever.
November 30, 2007
i'm an asshole on ten shots of patron.
nothing is special.
not skydiving,
landing on the moon,
or the greatest romance of all time.
nothing is magic.
all slight of hand,
a card up the sleeve
or some camera tricks to make me think so what.
nothing is perfect.
always a smell,
a sound
or a dirty sock to fuck the whole thing up.
there is only the vision
and the dream.
in this
even the
plainest
oldest
shortest
loudest
little screaming lost soul
is the miracle.
the dream.
the world.
perfect.
magical.
we'll save special for the retards,
and laugh as they run.
not skydiving,
landing on the moon,
or the greatest romance of all time.
nothing is magic.
all slight of hand,
a card up the sleeve
or some camera tricks to make me think so what.
nothing is perfect.
always a smell,
a sound
or a dirty sock to fuck the whole thing up.
there is only the vision
and the dream.
in this
even the
plainest
oldest
shortest
loudest
little screaming lost soul
is the miracle.
the dream.
the world.
perfect.
magical.
we'll save special for the retards,
and laugh as they run.
nothing to see here
last lunch.
last oasis,
last splinter of light.
before i make this leap from dream back into sleep,
from sleep back into bed,
from bed back into shoes
and walk the walk of nothing,
like as if i was a slinky on fire.
it will get me there,
and almost no one would notice
except that
i am a burning spiral of metal clanging down the hall!!!
what you looking at, fool?
last oasis,
last splinter of light.
before i make this leap from dream back into sleep,
from sleep back into bed,
from bed back into shoes
and walk the walk of nothing,
like as if i was a slinky on fire.
it will get me there,
and almost no one would notice
except that
i am a burning spiral of metal clanging down the hall!!!
what you looking at, fool?
November 24, 2007
shark
crimson shines so ably
the saltwater and blood become fast friends,
spiral and wind away,
deeper and farther
spreading the word,
there is food here,
there is death here.
makes me wonder,
as i get broker,
and my situation decays,
what that guy meant
when he said,
"how you, chum?"
the sharks show up in droves today.
and as they tear into me,
and i feel my flesh disintegrate in a thousand directions,
i can only smile,
because if i don't,
they will know
they
have
gotten to me.
the saltwater and blood become fast friends,
spiral and wind away,
deeper and farther
spreading the word,
there is food here,
there is death here.
makes me wonder,
as i get broker,
and my situation decays,
what that guy meant
when he said,
"how you, chum?"
the sharks show up in droves today.
and as they tear into me,
and i feel my flesh disintegrate in a thousand directions,
i can only smile,
because if i don't,
they will know
they
have
gotten to me.
November 22, 2007
thanksgiving feast
when you choose to be a lonely rooster,
some things are great.
you can have anything you want from anyone,
and you never have to put up with
nag
nag
nag.
you can sleep with 2 or 3 or 4 women in a week.
you can stay up till tomorrow.
you can eat whatever and whomever you want.
fly to rome,
hitchhike to vegas,
stay in bed,
drink for breakfast.
all in all, it is quite nice having been a 14 year old with a drivers liscense and the ability to buy booze. i may stick with it for another 20 years.
the problem is
holidays.
no one around,
no warm company,
no greetings,
no gifts,
no circle of smiling friends,shaking hands,
singing along.
no safe home.
so i sit today in the sun of the pacific.
not bad at all.
i'll sit all day,
and into tonight,
and think of how great it is to be free,
to be the 14 year old rooster.
i'll smile even bigger at the bar tonight.
but just for today
my cockadoodledoo
is an empty roar.
just for today i am not really laughing,
the bellows and smile cover up,
my envy
my loss
my fear of losing all this nothing that i have made.
just for today, and christmas, maybe new years, although new years can be a holiday for roosters too.
maybe for birthdays,
but really not much else...
these couple of days are the longest ones.
the quietest ones.
just listening to the chinese couple next door play tennis and argue away in a pitch that could peel the paint. a couple of planes. a breeze in the palms from time to time.
long. empty. quiet.
these days are for you, your family, your life and the wonderful world you have made.
the rest of them, they are for me.
doesn't seem much, just 363,
days to do and be what i want,
go everywhere and run wild and haunt,
keep running faster, year after year,
until it all moves so fast,
it all becomes clear.
everywhere's home.
all of them lovers.
everyone brothers and sisters.
the gift for me,
i unwrap this day, the space, the time.
tied up with a bow,
it is room to notice,
to breathe,
to let everyone go home,
leave me be
with the sleeping sun,
ocean of dust,
and my new best friend,
this pigeon on my doorstep,
who just took a shit
on my thanksgiving froot loops.
some things are great.
you can have anything you want from anyone,
and you never have to put up with
nag
nag
nag.
you can sleep with 2 or 3 or 4 women in a week.
you can stay up till tomorrow.
you can eat whatever and whomever you want.
fly to rome,
hitchhike to vegas,
stay in bed,
drink for breakfast.
all in all, it is quite nice having been a 14 year old with a drivers liscense and the ability to buy booze. i may stick with it for another 20 years.
the problem is
holidays.
no one around,
no warm company,
no greetings,
no gifts,
no circle of smiling friends,shaking hands,
singing along.
no safe home.
so i sit today in the sun of the pacific.
not bad at all.
i'll sit all day,
and into tonight,
and think of how great it is to be free,
to be the 14 year old rooster.
i'll smile even bigger at the bar tonight.
but just for today
my cockadoodledoo
is an empty roar.
just for today i am not really laughing,
the bellows and smile cover up,
my envy
my loss
my fear of losing all this nothing that i have made.
just for today, and christmas, maybe new years, although new years can be a holiday for roosters too.
maybe for birthdays,
but really not much else...
these couple of days are the longest ones.
the quietest ones.
just listening to the chinese couple next door play tennis and argue away in a pitch that could peel the paint. a couple of planes. a breeze in the palms from time to time.
long. empty. quiet.
these days are for you, your family, your life and the wonderful world you have made.
the rest of them, they are for me.
doesn't seem much, just 363,
days to do and be what i want,
go everywhere and run wild and haunt,
keep running faster, year after year,
until it all moves so fast,
it all becomes clear.
everywhere's home.
all of them lovers.
everyone brothers and sisters.
the gift for me,
i unwrap this day, the space, the time.
tied up with a bow,
it is room to notice,
to breathe,
to let everyone go home,
leave me be
with the sleeping sun,
ocean of dust,
and my new best friend,
this pigeon on my doorstep,
who just took a shit
on my thanksgiving froot loops.
thanksgiving
living out of the dregs,
the lost and found
and
all of the drift wood
that makes it by some strange chance
out here to the middle of the pacific.
out of it all i have one meal left.
out of it all i have more than i need.
into it all i can dream
and maybe make whats left
into something
or someone
to
sit
with
here.
the lost and found
and
all of the drift wood
that makes it by some strange chance
out here to the middle of the pacific.
out of it all i have one meal left.
out of it all i have more than i need.
into it all i can dream
and maybe make whats left
into something
or someone
to
sit
with
here.
November 13, 2007
week 9
unquenchable, bottomless thirst, save for this.
i am full when:
i see the backs of your eyes
i dream of the world i am heading into
i remember the world i am coming from
i sit easy in my breathing
i let myself fall along the wave
you smile
you laugh
you love
you dream
i am so excited for you and your world, your people, your friends and family. the places you'll go, and all that you will do. i am so excited to see you, to hear about you, to think of you and the lights and cars and trees and bars and faces and classes and everything else that gets to be filtered through the beautiful you. you make the universe the perfect dream, and i am in gratitude for a glimpse of the picture, the sound, the feel. i am thankful for you in a way that i cannot put into words, and dread the thought of not having you here, but know that where you are headed you are headed because it is all part of the amazing spectacular, and because of that laugh and smile like i will for the rest of my days because you are...
6 days is everything.
6 days is a drop in the bucket.
be with everyone now, all of them.
fall in love with you, the you that is all of the people around you, all of the things, every second, sunrise, breath, star, tree, all of it.
don't hold tight,
drink deep.
when it is done, remember...
this is where you begin.
i am full when:
i see the backs of your eyes
i dream of the world i am heading into
i remember the world i am coming from
i sit easy in my breathing
i let myself fall along the wave
you smile
you laugh
you love
you dream
i am so excited for you and your world, your people, your friends and family. the places you'll go, and all that you will do. i am so excited to see you, to hear about you, to think of you and the lights and cars and trees and bars and faces and classes and everything else that gets to be filtered through the beautiful you. you make the universe the perfect dream, and i am in gratitude for a glimpse of the picture, the sound, the feel. i am thankful for you in a way that i cannot put into words, and dread the thought of not having you here, but know that where you are headed you are headed because it is all part of the amazing spectacular, and because of that laugh and smile like i will for the rest of my days because you are...
6 days is everything.
6 days is a drop in the bucket.
be with everyone now, all of them.
fall in love with you, the you that is all of the people around you, all of the things, every second, sunrise, breath, star, tree, all of it.
don't hold tight,
drink deep.
when it is done, remember...
this is where you begin.
November 6, 2007
sure i'll watch.
if the digital clock
could tick away
maybe there would be hope for some slumber.
instead, just the whine of the ancient a/c
red luminous numbers emblazoned
in my eye
mind
heart
the minutes are hours of knives whittling away
at the splinters
that are
all
that
is
left
of
this
maybe i could forget.
maybe i could convince myself that i want to forget.
maybe i could sell myself on convincing.
maybe i could reason myself into selling,
lull myself into reasoning,
push myself into lulling.
or else
just pray for more
dig in
to the lonely
with teeth and hands
eyes and ears
drink up the midnight
with full
bellowing
blasts
drown in the distance
stand on my feet,
fight tooth and nail,
fall through and land
back in the empty
echoing empty
the only sound here
is the thump, thump, thump
of a full heart
balancing the tin drum
of a second's passing.
could tick away
maybe there would be hope for some slumber.
instead, just the whine of the ancient a/c
red luminous numbers emblazoned
in my eye
mind
heart
the minutes are hours of knives whittling away
at the splinters
that are
all
that
is
left
of
this
maybe i could forget.
maybe i could convince myself that i want to forget.
maybe i could sell myself on convincing.
maybe i could reason myself into selling,
lull myself into reasoning,
push myself into lulling.
or else
just pray for more
dig in
to the lonely
with teeth and hands
eyes and ears
drink up the midnight
with full
bellowing
blasts
drown in the distance
stand on my feet,
fight tooth and nail,
fall through and land
back in the empty
echoing empty
the only sound here
is the thump, thump, thump
of a full heart
balancing the tin drum
of a second's passing.
November 5, 2007
deep shit.
as i reach in,
arm extended,
full length,
tips of the fingers,
straining for this last inch,
feet alighting
as the bottom of the barrel looms,
faint reflection of my sillhouette,
from the dregs of liquid
from the bottom
deepest
farthest
reaches.
the dull clank of metal on the wood bottom.
the sound sips
and washes through.
behind it is the drought.
so clear, just whisps of dusty wind through the fabric of clothes of mind of eye.
so clean, just shards of frozen clouds, draped across the clear blue, greying blue, beyond the golden light of afternoon,
beyond the reaches of tracks and roads,
reaching for heaven,
just a sip, a taste, a moment, a glimmer, one full, real second.
desire is a cup never filled.
the world is an empty barrel.
our hearts are the wells, all spring from one source, one flow.
what you want is you, self seeks self,
in the eyes and dreams of everyone else.
instead look inside everywhere.
i am there.
you are there.
look where you want,
where you don't,
where you are,
where you aren't,
where you can,
where you can't,
where i am.
there is the full heart,
the endless waters,
the banquet feast,
and mountains and oceans,
everyone,
everything,
everywhere,
anyone,
anything,
anyhwhere.
that is you.
that is you.
that is you.
this is me.
arm extended,
full length,
tips of the fingers,
straining for this last inch,
feet alighting
as the bottom of the barrel looms,
faint reflection of my sillhouette,
from the dregs of liquid
from the bottom
deepest
farthest
reaches.
the dull clank of metal on the wood bottom.
the sound sips
and washes through.
behind it is the drought.
so clear, just whisps of dusty wind through the fabric of clothes of mind of eye.
so clean, just shards of frozen clouds, draped across the clear blue, greying blue, beyond the golden light of afternoon,
beyond the reaches of tracks and roads,
reaching for heaven,
just a sip, a taste, a moment, a glimmer, one full, real second.
desire is a cup never filled.
the world is an empty barrel.
our hearts are the wells, all spring from one source, one flow.
what you want is you, self seeks self,
in the eyes and dreams of everyone else.
instead look inside everywhere.
i am there.
you are there.
look where you want,
where you don't,
where you are,
where you aren't,
where you can,
where you can't,
where i am.
there is the full heart,
the endless waters,
the banquet feast,
and mountains and oceans,
everyone,
everything,
everywhere,
anyone,
anything,
anyhwhere.
that is you.
that is you.
that is you.
this is me.
fruity pebbles
somewhere between shiva and bukowski,
out in the middle of the screaming pacific,
under heavy rain,
we lie.
no one could have dreamed
a more precarious stance,
languid dance,
the only light
left for today
was the kind you see
billowing out
from beneath closed doors
as you set up,
hidden for fear or fun,
anticipating
the long lost drop,
cool water,
fallen from heaven
to these parched lips.
it is the waiting that makes it all worthwhile,
it is the waiting we were waiting for really,
and as such,
the releif is not really anything
more than becoming willing
to start the game again.
all that stands now
between me and the end
is a saint
and an old man.
all that stands in the light
behind the door is you.
the in between is empty space,
room to fall,
just wood and nails,
and waiting,
waiting,
waiting,
for the vacuum to implode
this universe of possibility
that is hovering around the center of this idiot's world...
out in the middle of the screaming pacific,
under heavy rain,
we lie.
no one could have dreamed
a more precarious stance,
languid dance,
the only light
left for today
was the kind you see
billowing out
from beneath closed doors
as you set up,
hidden for fear or fun,
anticipating
the long lost drop,
cool water,
fallen from heaven
to these parched lips.
it is the waiting that makes it all worthwhile,
it is the waiting we were waiting for really,
and as such,
the releif is not really anything
more than becoming willing
to start the game again.
all that stands now
between me and the end
is a saint
and an old man.
all that stands in the light
behind the door is you.
the in between is empty space,
room to fall,
just wood and nails,
and waiting,
waiting,
waiting,
for the vacuum to implode
this universe of possibility
that is hovering around the center of this idiot's world...
October 16, 2007
paradise.
here is the slow old sound,
the whole thing set to rest
by the unending curls of the soft cool pacific
dropping her ears again and again
on the rocks
on the sand
on the shore.
today i can lie,
eyes in the clouds
arms and legs dangling like confetti
into the deep.
sun and surf reverberating,
perfect cool nights'
shining rays
and
elusive air through
the shuddering fingers of palms
paradise leaves but one question left.
am i the sleeper or the sleep?
the whole thing set to rest
by the unending curls of the soft cool pacific
dropping her ears again and again
on the rocks
on the sand
on the shore.
today i can lie,
eyes in the clouds
arms and legs dangling like confetti
into the deep.
sun and surf reverberating,
perfect cool nights'
shining rays
and
elusive air through
the shuddering fingers of palms
paradise leaves but one question left.
am i the sleeper or the sleep?
October 2, 2007
one hanau
homeland
in the one horse town after all.
same dank yellow on the lights.
one story houses, one story scene.
it is the warmest i have felt in years.
after all of the ambition
all of the glam
the women
the scams
hillbilly
hellbent
searing
and sand.
all has been settled
to elbow room,
and the immediate gaze,
filling stars
lost in haze
of late nights
luminescence
and the aspirations
of
a
demon
said
and
done.
mistakes are made
all of the time
every day.
here keeps it small.
here keeps it inconsequential.
only flesh.
only blood.
only all of what you are.
seems a small price to have
on the chopping block
under the butchers' gaze.
in the one horse town after all.
same dank yellow on the lights.
one story houses, one story scene.
it is the warmest i have felt in years.
after all of the ambition
all of the glam
the women
the scams
hillbilly
hellbent
searing
and sand.
all has been settled
to elbow room,
and the immediate gaze,
filling stars
lost in haze
of late nights
luminescence
and the aspirations
of
a
demon
said
and
done.
mistakes are made
all of the time
every day.
here keeps it small.
here keeps it inconsequential.
only flesh.
only blood.
only all of what you are.
seems a small price to have
on the chopping block
under the butchers' gaze.
October 1, 2007
nodding out
the years of water and sand
grime and grit
an occasional boulder
footfall
pulling down through mountains
wearing them
hasn't stopped
has barely begun
hasn't asked why
or when
or who
would be left
when the last castles fall.
grime and grit
an occasional boulder
footfall
pulling down through mountains
wearing them
hasn't stopped
has barely begun
hasn't asked why
or when
or who
would be left
when the last castles fall.
September 14, 2007
July 31, 2007
old man
drag me down through the low e.,
under this amber moon and failing starlight.
along shattered sidewalks
scratched with the names of long dead loves and lovers,
beneath trees that reach through the tired asphalt for a drink, like me.
pull me up the winding stairs,
past creaking doors,
and into this room, womb,
where we can wait in away from the storm of flesh and steel,
hide away in this dissolving midnight,
and let the receding darkness reveal the last sips of my soul
as they hang from the masts,
tapping away in the breeze
with the gentle drum of deep, dead waters against the hull,
sleep is the ocean on these late summer nights,
as salty,
as damp,
sinking,
drifting
and praying for a breeze to give us a shove
out to sea.
under this amber moon and failing starlight.
along shattered sidewalks
scratched with the names of long dead loves and lovers,
beneath trees that reach through the tired asphalt for a drink, like me.
pull me up the winding stairs,
past creaking doors,
and into this room, womb,
where we can wait in away from the storm of flesh and steel,
hide away in this dissolving midnight,
and let the receding darkness reveal the last sips of my soul
as they hang from the masts,
tapping away in the breeze
with the gentle drum of deep, dead waters against the hull,
sleep is the ocean on these late summer nights,
as salty,
as damp,
sinking,
drifting
and praying for a breeze to give us a shove
out to sea.
July 30, 2007
to NZ
new york city is spinning,
humming like the air is a dream on fire,
she always has the way with the warming,
encompassing embrace.
i can feel her in my lungs,
in between my toes,
thick,
drowning,
and yet at the same time
there is the possibility of buoyancy here,
the mire could lift you to the surface for a second,
above the clouds,
looking out and down,
the tickle of weightless hovering in your gut
as the the stars swim around your ears
like as if nothing was happening,
the moon drifts by like nothing,
as if you were one of them all,
one with them all,
even if just for a moment,
you get to feel what it is like to shimmer in heaven,
careless of the seemingly inevitable descent,
back to the underground,
back out into the day,
reeling and teetering through the sense
that pays the way
for our nightly birth and rebirth,
for comets,
shooting stars
and falling ones too.
the cycle gains speed,
swarming whirlwind, faster and more,
and with each passing day
you get one step closer to the heart of the thing,
looking straight in,
watching and listening to the distant echo
and fluttering glow
that creeps through the mess, the mess.
the mess that keeps us all
on the edge of our seats,
tip of our toes,
stretching and straining for a glimpse
of the perfect impossible...
humming like the air is a dream on fire,
she always has the way with the warming,
encompassing embrace.
i can feel her in my lungs,
in between my toes,
thick,
drowning,
and yet at the same time
there is the possibility of buoyancy here,
the mire could lift you to the surface for a second,
above the clouds,
looking out and down,
the tickle of weightless hovering in your gut
as the the stars swim around your ears
like as if nothing was happening,
the moon drifts by like nothing,
as if you were one of them all,
one with them all,
even if just for a moment,
you get to feel what it is like to shimmer in heaven,
careless of the seemingly inevitable descent,
back to the underground,
back out into the day,
reeling and teetering through the sense
that pays the way
for our nightly birth and rebirth,
for comets,
shooting stars
and falling ones too.
the cycle gains speed,
swarming whirlwind, faster and more,
and with each passing day
you get one step closer to the heart of the thing,
looking straight in,
watching and listening to the distant echo
and fluttering glow
that creeps through the mess, the mess.
the mess that keeps us all
on the edge of our seats,
tip of our toes,
stretching and straining for a glimpse
of the perfect impossible...
July 29, 2007
cave
morning from a basement in brooklyn doesn't mean shit.
it could be dawn or dusk.
luck has it that it is noon.
could have done worse i suppose.
change and pants tumble in the dryer outside my door,
liquid ebbing rythms that lull me back in and out of easy afternoon slumber.
possibility is that i might get something done today.
save for the hypnotic beat of coins on steel,
which might be enough,
to tip the scales in favor
of getting something done
tonight.
it could be dawn or dusk.
luck has it that it is noon.
could have done worse i suppose.
change and pants tumble in the dryer outside my door,
liquid ebbing rythms that lull me back in and out of easy afternoon slumber.
possibility is that i might get something done today.
save for the hypnotic beat of coins on steel,
which might be enough,
to tip the scales in favor
of getting something done
tonight.
July 22, 2007
tucson
my childhood home is all of the mistakes
all of the failures of a family gone mad
and friends that slipped under the carpet with the desert dust.
she calls me into boiling embraces under tan red sky
and about once a year i am given a chance to really remember
the open roads
shards of mountains
saguaro cactus
apocolypse sun
midnights empty, save for the train
lightning
thunder
rain
heat
the death that is long gone
and can only rear its head
with me
as i dance
across
the valley floor.
all of the failures of a family gone mad
and friends that slipped under the carpet with the desert dust.
she calls me into boiling embraces under tan red sky
and about once a year i am given a chance to really remember
the open roads
shards of mountains
saguaro cactus
apocolypse sun
midnights empty, save for the train
lightning
thunder
rain
heat
the death that is long gone
and can only rear its head
with me
as i dance
across
the valley floor.
July 12, 2007
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
brooklyn is singing
a jewel on fire.
while time
stands
on
e
n
d
doing stunts
with the dogs
and late night trucks
that drag race
washington
and
atlantic
for the worst trophy that anyone could have thought of.
the lover is missing
the ravage
of pitch black midnight
the caress
of cool morning
and stroke
of late summer
late afternoon
rain.
she has gone off to sleep
under sitcoms
salons
and leery
cautious
fools
that don't know
that for this shark
sleeping
is death.
a jewel on fire.
while time
stands
on
e
n
d
doing stunts
with the dogs
and late night trucks
that drag race
washington
and
atlantic
for the worst trophy that anyone could have thought of.
the lover is missing
the ravage
of pitch black midnight
the caress
of cool morning
and stroke
of late summer
late afternoon
rain.
she has gone off to sleep
under sitcoms
salons
and leery
cautious
fools
that don't know
that for this shark
sleeping
is death.
July 11, 2007
welcome home
guage your life
by the airports you know,
the train stations you lept from
into the belly of the land.
scores are kept
in miles underfoot,
and roads under tires.
spend the whole time
running,
running,
running,
and laugh heartily
knowing
that you can travel a lifetime
and end up just a few short inches
from where you began.
by the airports you know,
the train stations you lept from
into the belly of the land.
scores are kept
in miles underfoot,
and roads under tires.
spend the whole time
running,
running,
running,
and laugh heartily
knowing
that you can travel a lifetime
and end up just a few short inches
from where you began.
June 22, 2007
clear skies
there were
just a few
loose seeds
and bark
left
drifting
in the puddles
after the storm.
nights lights
rays reflected
in bubbling rifts
around the border
like halos.
but for the debris,
one might think
it was another calm day.
tomorrow
we are just sticks in the mud,
the day after dust.
just a few
loose seeds
and bark
left
drifting
in the puddles
after the storm.
nights lights
rays reflected
in bubbling rifts
around the border
like halos.
but for the debris,
one might think
it was another calm day.
tomorrow
we are just sticks in the mud,
the day after dust.
May 29, 2007
May 8, 2007
nostalgia
afternoon sun
still feels the way it always did
dampering eyes
warming the touch
setting the day into
smooth
easy
languid
steps
sitting
stillness
aspirations washed along
with the currents of light
resurfacing downstream
rearing heads
in the calm flow of evening
also just the same as they always were
always promise
and mights
and maybes
under the blanket of
cool
dark
quiet
comes possiblity
potential
or even nothing at all
but for now
a moment
golden
shimmering
sun
and the feeling
of forgotten memories
and old friends
under another sky
a different day
in the desert
in the park
in the city
on the river
in the houses
on the rooftops
at the shore
a million miles
a million miles
all came here today
on the boughs of the breeze
and the light seeping in.
still feels the way it always did
dampering eyes
warming the touch
setting the day into
smooth
easy
languid
steps
sitting
stillness
aspirations washed along
with the currents of light
resurfacing downstream
rearing heads
in the calm flow of evening
also just the same as they always were
always promise
and mights
and maybes
under the blanket of
cool
dark
quiet
comes possiblity
potential
or even nothing at all
but for now
a moment
golden
shimmering
sun
and the feeling
of forgotten memories
and old friends
under another sky
a different day
in the desert
in the park
in the city
on the river
in the houses
on the rooftops
at the shore
a million miles
a million miles
all came here today
on the boughs of the breeze
and the light seeping in.
May 5, 2007
i used the word fuck at least once.
slithering in with
the marina rats.
hunkered into the dank,
shallow,
must and mold,
and the conversation
is the veil
under which
the coldest
the oldest
silence
is
buried.
words can only alleviate the space for so long.
someday we will have to get rid of the space, and fill it with the feeling that is missing when we all shut the fuck up.
until then,
job
flight
town
birthday
food
music
tattoos
bands
books
art
jokes
family
clothes
cars
and
fucking.
thank god that at least one good thing made the list.
the marina rats.
hunkered into the dank,
shallow,
must and mold,
and the conversation
is the veil
under which
the coldest
the oldest
silence
is
buried.
words can only alleviate the space for so long.
someday we will have to get rid of the space, and fill it with the feeling that is missing when we all shut the fuck up.
until then,
job
flight
town
birthday
food
music
tattoos
bands
books
art
jokes
family
clothes
cars
and
fucking.
thank god that at least one good thing made the list.
April 28, 2007
job
sleep is the carrot
dangling
precarious
at the end of the stick
at the end of the week.
employement is the cross
dangling
precarious
where i hang
my coat
arms
time
love
life.
dangling
precarious
at the end of the stick
at the end of the week.
employement is the cross
dangling
precarious
where i hang
my coat
arms
time
love
life.
April 23, 2007
good livin'
first surf under warm rain.
full spectrum rainbow like i've never seen.
sunburn.
can't feel my arms.
soggy shorts.
tired to the bone.
starving.
never even fully caught a ride.
couldn't be happier.
April 13, 2007
floating
Flight 9
At 30,000 feet
200 souls
scream for
something
to alleviate
the tedium
except
for
something
too
exciting.
April 9, 2007
happy easter.
traversal of the last days on the continent,
back and forth out of wholesome backdrop and hearty laughter,
the ground slides backwards from under foot
as the perfect oceanic recedes with her own waves
into the pinprick of light that is this distance.
the day after easter is for my resurrection,
staying sleeping,
staying dead for at least one more day.
i have been married, and too a conjoined twin to a bottle
we were separated at birth,
but the pull was always still there.
now back to the familiar,
which has somehow become alien in my absence.
some how stretching myself into the world
of fathers and mothers and the apple pie of the others
has left me
shuddering,
soaked
and frozen
in the arctic circle of my mind,
which is where i awake, i stand, i shake, i fall.
home, sweet home.
April 8, 2007
hard work
i read a box bottom at the bus stop
that had been cut out,
and used as a sign.
any help
could have been a question,
but really i think
it was
a job.
that had been cut out,
and used as a sign.
any help
could have been a question,
but really i think
it was
a job.
April 6, 2007
old town
the day in the valley is quiet and still,
save for the long distance rumble of the interstate,
the mainline,
the coursing soul of southern california.
crows in the palms rustle from time to time in their midday slumber.
ocean air surrounds,
thick and cool,
somehow able to set a chill to the bone,
even at 50 degrees.
days in san diego are spent,
winding against sublime inertia,
i remember it well,
it fits like a sweet smell
and the last second of calm that settles around your ears just before sleep.
years here were a dream of becoming,
and in the same way,
seemed so tangible upon immediate exit,
as solid as the trunks of trees,
as clear as water.
but the years since have seen a drift,
to different waters,
currents pull and tides and swells rock the sorrowed hull
back into and off of the jetties and shores,
bent against wind,
anchor long gone,
never a moment to rest at the helm
or a second to take the eyes off the horizon
for want of a glimpse of the ends of the earth.
reason held that we were just circling the globe,
but our hearts said that if we did it enough times,
we could unravel,
unwind,
the heart of the world
and set us all teetering
into the space
that is left in between the cracks
when it all falls apart...
things get better, which is fine.
things get cleaner, which i have heard is necessary.
things get safer, less and less happens,
which keeps us alive and well save for this.
the magic walks hand and hand with the grit.
reason works.
sense is fine.
the grit is better.
it makes more sense than sense anyway.
the grit has possibility.
nothing could happen.
so could everything.
bricks and fences can only hold up for so long.
when they give, the grit will come tumbling back in,
angels and devils will have back at thier war and sublime embrace,
and the reasons will evaporate with the ghosts,
sense will run like a man on fire,
and we will dance and sing with the gods,
as the whole thing comes to a screaming halt
shot out the end of a cannon.
oh, what a fine mess it will be.
save for the long distance rumble of the interstate,
the mainline,
the coursing soul of southern california.
crows in the palms rustle from time to time in their midday slumber.
ocean air surrounds,
thick and cool,
somehow able to set a chill to the bone,
even at 50 degrees.
days in san diego are spent,
winding against sublime inertia,
i remember it well,
it fits like a sweet smell
and the last second of calm that settles around your ears just before sleep.
years here were a dream of becoming,
and in the same way,
seemed so tangible upon immediate exit,
as solid as the trunks of trees,
as clear as water.
but the years since have seen a drift,
to different waters,
currents pull and tides and swells rock the sorrowed hull
back into and off of the jetties and shores,
bent against wind,
anchor long gone,
never a moment to rest at the helm
or a second to take the eyes off the horizon
for want of a glimpse of the ends of the earth.
reason held that we were just circling the globe,
but our hearts said that if we did it enough times,
we could unravel,
unwind,
the heart of the world
and set us all teetering
into the space
that is left in between the cracks
when it all falls apart...
things get better, which is fine.
things get cleaner, which i have heard is necessary.
things get safer, less and less happens,
which keeps us alive and well save for this.
the magic walks hand and hand with the grit.
reason works.
sense is fine.
the grit is better.
it makes more sense than sense anyway.
the grit has possibility.
nothing could happen.
so could everything.
bricks and fences can only hold up for so long.
when they give, the grit will come tumbling back in,
angels and devils will have back at thier war and sublime embrace,
and the reasons will evaporate with the ghosts,
sense will run like a man on fire,
and we will dance and sing with the gods,
as the whole thing comes to a screaming halt
shot out the end of a cannon.
oh, what a fine mess it will be.
April 4, 2007
rush hour
cool chill creeps in,
the early morning,
same as us,
dwindling midnight,
as most cars plan
to trade places with each other
in the most
exquisite game
complex ritual
and grand farce
that has ever been seen.
April 3, 2007
everything on the menu, please.
my eyes see, they want to,
my ears hear the same way.
desire is my eyes,
and my ears and too my taste and smell,
and all of the things
that make me real in this world
and make this world,
this universe,
real in me.
desire is the arms that i rip my heart open with,
and make it so i can fit more in,
more in
more in.
there is no end to my desire for more,
in this city,
in this room,
on this table,
in the chair,
in my guts,
all the way full,
all the way emptying,
always for more,
satisfied by this insatiable hunger,
and the knowing that it will always be there
if i want it to. if i want.
settling in this time
over the square brown city,
under yellowing skies
and the haze of this feverish drift,
shuffling drudgery,
anything could be here,
the last dance of the discontent
as they are squeezed off the streets
and into the city buses,
with the spark and rustling of something,
anything more than
this place.
this plan.
this girl.
this car.
this day.
anything more.
freedom from desire is to be desire,
to enter into the house,
and make her your jacket,
make her your shoes,
your feet,
and walk out the door that is no longer there,
it is in your back pocket,
in the gown of a madman and saint and fool.
eat, drink, look, listen, feel, dream.
show the gods by being a god,
the god of desire,
the god of rage,
the god of love,
whichever,
pick one,
if you want.
but only if you truly want.
my ears hear the same way.
desire is my eyes,
and my ears and too my taste and smell,
and all of the things
that make me real in this world
and make this world,
this universe,
real in me.
desire is the arms that i rip my heart open with,
and make it so i can fit more in,
more in
more in.
there is no end to my desire for more,
in this city,
in this room,
on this table,
in the chair,
in my guts,
all the way full,
all the way emptying,
always for more,
satisfied by this insatiable hunger,
and the knowing that it will always be there
if i want it to. if i want.
settling in this time
over the square brown city,
under yellowing skies
and the haze of this feverish drift,
shuffling drudgery,
anything could be here,
the last dance of the discontent
as they are squeezed off the streets
and into the city buses,
with the spark and rustling of something,
anything more than
this place.
this plan.
this girl.
this car.
this day.
anything more.
freedom from desire is to be desire,
to enter into the house,
and make her your jacket,
make her your shoes,
your feet,
and walk out the door that is no longer there,
it is in your back pocket,
in the gown of a madman and saint and fool.
eat, drink, look, listen, feel, dream.
show the gods by being a god,
the god of desire,
the god of rage,
the god of love,
whichever,
pick one,
if you want.
but only if you truly want.
April 2, 2007
dogs in the morning
sleeping dogs
in sunshine,
dust already sparkling
on its way to the heavens,
in the early light
a thousand splinters
spiraling with the flies
and tilting with the passing cars
that lull us to sleep
every day
all day
for as long as we can remember.
los angeles sings in the morning,
even the hangovers
are smoother and calm
as the ocean laps like a toungue
at the toes of sparkling mountains
worshipping this city
alongside the bums
and lovers
and preachers
and dogs.
sketches from today.
the full moon is the bastard eye
that sets the whole of the city to a raging silhouette.
--------------------------------------------------
not the southpaw,
but staggering just for a half second,
half night,
enough to make me feel
mortal
godlike
full.
--------------------------------------------------
lumbering
300 lbs, in flip flops
the black
scaled
skin
of this evolution
has eaten itself
into oblivion.
--------------------------------------------------
with the state of dismay
disarray
one could ask,
why?
a family?
a house?
a shop?
with the state of dismay
disarray
one could ask,
why not?
--------------------------------------------------
the best things
that are under your nose
are never found until
you break down
fall apart
lose control
and land
flat
on
your
face.
--------------------------------------------------
last shards,
shred red plastic,
tattered
hanging on
to sooted leaves and sticks,
the tree as lonely
in the concrete
as the brilliant
the precious
the perfect ones.
--------------------------------------------------
buildings and billboards
block out the sky
what is left
is swallowed
by the haze
and
the eye spent magnetic field
that assures that most gazes
search the concrete
for clouds.
--------------------------------------------------
low slung
chrome spiring,
pipes in eternal belching,
blasting
sunlight bent
like halos on demons on fire
as the sonar waves
bend around warehouses and trees
and scream...
i am here.
--------------------------------------------------
hard times for the guy. he lives in his shades and shadow and cloud. no matter how fast, it all just moves with him. his shades and shadow and cloud. from bus stop to bench to park to table. his clothes and hair are still worn and dusty like the day.
that sets the whole of the city to a raging silhouette.
--------------------------------------------------
not the southpaw,
but staggering just for a half second,
half night,
enough to make me feel
mortal
godlike
full.
--------------------------------------------------
lumbering
300 lbs, in flip flops
the black
scaled
skin
of this evolution
has eaten itself
into oblivion.
--------------------------------------------------
with the state of dismay
disarray
one could ask,
why?
a family?
a house?
a shop?
with the state of dismay
disarray
one could ask,
why not?
--------------------------------------------------
the best things
that are under your nose
are never found until
you break down
fall apart
lose control
and land
flat
on
your
face.
--------------------------------------------------
last shards,
shred red plastic,
tattered
hanging on
to sooted leaves and sticks,
the tree as lonely
in the concrete
as the brilliant
the precious
the perfect ones.
--------------------------------------------------
buildings and billboards
block out the sky
what is left
is swallowed
by the haze
and
the eye spent magnetic field
that assures that most gazes
search the concrete
for clouds.
--------------------------------------------------
low slung
chrome spiring,
pipes in eternal belching,
blasting
sunlight bent
like halos on demons on fire
as the sonar waves
bend around warehouses and trees
and scream...
i am here.
--------------------------------------------------
hard times for the guy. he lives in his shades and shadow and cloud. no matter how fast, it all just moves with him. his shades and shadow and cloud. from bus stop to bench to park to table. his clothes and hair are still worn and dusty like the day.
April 1, 2007
coast highway
under the canal,
over the trees,
chasing chain links,
drinking the breeze,
river's sound comes from cars and the wires,
the nature the same,
always rushing, always flowing,
endless coursing,
all in a rush to relieve the pressure of being contained,
captivated by the passage on the way to release,
birth and waking,
bleeding,
crying,
screaming and streaming,
into the old mother,
old lover and death,
her embrace and chase,
lapping at heels,
pulling us home,
into and under and drinking the sea.
over the trees,
chasing chain links,
drinking the breeze,
river's sound comes from cars and the wires,
the nature the same,
always rushing, always flowing,
endless coursing,
all in a rush to relieve the pressure of being contained,
captivated by the passage on the way to release,
birth and waking,
bleeding,
crying,
screaming and streaming,
into the old mother,
old lover and death,
her embrace and chase,
lapping at heels,
pulling us home,
into and under and drinking the sea.
March 30, 2007
couch surfing
lets sit for a minute, and i'll tell you a thing. i'm here for a week, 10 days at best. i haven't the time for the fuss and the fiddle. are you married or steady? lonesome and tired? no matter which you should take me in for a while, let me be your man for a week, 10 days at best. i can be a good lover, considerate at times, a good laugh and a teacher of a thing or two, as well. i make a good student if you have something to share, but i just don't have time to wait around to begin. i would rather have all of a week, 10 days at best. not half, not part, i want it all. and we start over drinks, old friday night, near the trains, near the cars, near the sea, we start not with chatter, but a kiss.
March 28, 2007
at least there's a train
slivering feet through the soil of 2 am, coolest and quietest night ever yet, half mile away you can hear the embrace under street lamps hellbent on jaundicing the eyes and trials of the rare gems of late night and early morning. every corner, every stop along the way is a loaded gun, barrel full of laughs and tears, recoil sent reverberating cracks through the veil of night, splintering the darkness with a thousand eyes, all of a sudden, all pointed inward. the world is a caterpillar, waiting to become, the world is a bowl full of shit, swirling around on its way into the ground, the world is my empty pocket, my empty wallet, my empty belly, my full heart. a glass of beer, a smoky room, quiet backstreet 10 miles from the trains and you could still hear. this is the magic of the southwestern, and the confidence that less than a days walk could get you to the mainline of ancient america, so that there is always a ripcord, always a way out short of jumping in front of a train, you could always just get on.
March 26, 2007
long day
staggering in at 4 am to wake up for work at 8 am still hurts, like i remember it did. i just had to check to make sure.
March 25, 2007
pooping at the bar
the funniest thing i read while taking a crap in what could be the worst bathroom on the face of the earth. no door, no seat, no tp, no air and plenty of people stumbling in to do lines on the back of the head while i squeeze out the longest shit i can remember having in a some time. snort this, bitches.
March 23, 2007
sugarland, tx
miles and miles of highway, the impenetrable wall of cars, and the largest flag, stars and stripes, draped over the burning road, the arc wire of displacement that i cannot wait to carry me on and on and on. you can feel and see and taste it, visceral, as palpable as the regulation tan bricks that make the whole place a landmarkless, remarkless, a monochrome american dream. sky broad and proud, amber waves planted in perfect, ornamental rows in tan brick boxes. the land of sweet freedom. which sport utility car to drive, mailbox black or white, 2 kids or 3, football or baseball. sweet, sweet freedom. no wonder they call it sugarland. really, no wonder. just sugar.
March 21, 2007
houston txdrinks under a cool southern sun in the afternoon, dogs and dust underfoot and a beautiful girl at the helm. things here are the sanest they could ever be, the monster is tempered by a shot at clear blue and the leaves overhead. i am falling asleep. i am falling asleep. and i only just noticed. why are the stakes made so much higher in paradise? the dying i loved, the living i loved, cannot make sense in a hole like this. good to pass through anyhow, maybe so that a little could rub off onto my shoes, and the dust of this dream could settle into my skin and sway me to sleep now and again. after i get the fuck out of here that is....
March 20, 2007
leticia
it is funny to come to an old place with old friends and have a new brain. the cells remember, the dna remembers, the heart and lungs remember, even the toes and the touch. but all that is left up in the attic is an echoe, a glimmer, a shimmer, a pindrop in the bucket of water of mind that has been drenched and drained a thousand times scince i last walked through your door. so your kids and your life and all of the new things as well as all the old things are news to me. start at the beginning. start at the end. start in the middle. make up something new. it is all okay because i can't tell anymore anyhow anyway anyone...just an echoe that knows that i once stood here with a beautiful girl, and the sun was probably bouncing off of your eyes just like that then too.
March 19, 2007
March 18, 2007
bars and yoga studios
west alabama ice house, houston txbars and yoga studios, everywhere i go. they are all the same. sure the bars seem very different, in the city huddled up in dark backlit holes, and then here lying on a park bench under the sun as we soak away the hours. the studios seem very strange, as i am used to third floor, fourth floor sweat stained caverns, and i find myself here in a carpeted basketball court drenched in cool light from the morning sun. but where it's the same is where it really counts. i find myself at home in a puddle of sweat, gaze to the stars and the rythym of breath, and find my reflections in the bottom of jars, bottoms of bottles and a smoked stained moon, and too in the familiar, shakey traversal of these two boats, these two worlds, that are really just the same thing, same thing, same thing, all along the way.
March 16, 2007
finally a working machine...
thanks friends....the ultimate ride, coursing between the rivers, silence between the roaring of the wheels, steadfast under and over slobbering mountains of glass and steel. and still, in between, we lay roots in concrete and take heart in the heartless lights and the billboard signs. there's a new meaning to me in each passing person and moment and stare, but the essence is still, the essence is there. the love gets you through...
March 12, 2007
my dick in everything.
when i say fuck the trains,
i mean literally fuck the trains,
i am making love to the ridiculous beauty of the city,
i am breathing hard in her ear as i trace the lines of
her sinewed back with my fingers,
i am running my mouth
and tongue down her neck and shoulders,
across her breasts,
i am striving and straining to work my way
deeper and deeper inside of her,
that she might take me all the way,
drain me and drench me with her
sweetest nectar,
her deepest trust,
make me wholly her
and everyone else that i see.
fuck the cars,
fuck the streets,
fuck the buildings,
i am mad in love and penetrating
the whole thing with every sense and thought,
through the mantra and meditation,
keeping myself teetering on the edge of the most
profound orgasm, the most exquisite rest,
to slumber in her arms,
way out in this fifth burrough,
under the sun,
in the park,
my bike tire as my pillow and the
grass as my bed.
fuck the park.
fuck the birds.
fuck the city.
fuck the sun.
or at least give a kiss.
March 10, 2007
to amy, spring 06
i am playing hooky today, staying at home in brookyn,
listening to the rain in the backyard,
the cars sizzling by on the street,
reading and watching movies.
i might muster up the motivation to step out for some coffee and breakfast in a bit,
but it is all already so perfect,
i am not sure that i need to do anything until i work tonight...
quiet days at home are few and far between,
they always ring of nostalgia,
of sometime when i was 4 feet tall,
drops on a window pane,
my forehead pressed against the coldglass,
daydreaming of sunny days when i might go outside and play,
cool grey-lit grass in the yard bent through the levitating water...
and too the days when i would go out anyhow,
splashing in the puddles of murky sidewalk water,
sifting out the earthworms as rivulets of water
streamed off the back of my head and off the tip of my nose,
every drop sending concentric, circle waves across the mirrored surface,
sky's reflection bending,
ripples intertwining with one another in the ordered chaos of sublime geometry,
life in its unpredictable perfection.
i wonder which boy i really was,
which boy i am now,
and who i will remember on rainy days twenty years from this day,
with my mind reeling into the future,
rooted in the ten million past moments that are my life,
and might be me.
what memories am i writing for my next nostalgic, dead day?
would that there will be a few just like today,
kill the lights,
i am lounging in my cloudlit room.
between the green lights on washington avenue,
there are moments of silence,
i could be anywhere,
my grandparent's in denver,
my warehouse in sandiego,
i am everywhere at once,
i am everyone i have ever been,
and we might even peel our heads
off of the pillow and search of luminous liquid mirrors,
forgetting even the possibility of being cold for wantof undescribed life,
soaked and in love just like i am right now...
i hope your work finds a moment to go outside and stand in the rain;
part of me suspectsthat this is one of the most important jobs we ever have to do.
March 8, 2007
nyc puja
death cult dance,
manhattan machine,
gears grinding,
churning forth the heads of a
thousand lovers a second,
the rebirth is exponential,
the waves of soot and blood
end in blacken'd pooles that
litter the asphault and the gutters,
the only thing solvent enough
to cleanse us here
is the lifesblood of that very process,
the afterbirth of an orgy of sense
and
spending,
we have no choice but to smile about
the whole thing.
hold the gun to your own head,
peel back the lips,
let her rip,
and you could even convince
yourself that it is fun, fun, fun.
smile, son, smile.
remember that kali is here,
she is watching,
and if you love her enough
she might even fuck you senseless tonite,
and senseful tomorrow.
welcome home...
welcome to the waking dream that is new york city
welcome to the sleepwalkers dance,
the naked ballroom,
the listless mother of a million orphans and her
uneasy echoes,
sonarlike waves sent across a million
miles of space and time
echoing off'o the backs of your eyes,
the bottom of your gut,
mapping,
stretching,
reaching
for a heart in the midst of this whirlpool,
this storm,
this silence,
this peace,
the quietest din i have ever heard
is the workings of these millions,
brushing up against one another.
i thank the gods for losing my mind,
there is no time here for it anyhow.
all you have to do is kill yourself,
and there is nothing left to stop you
from falling in love.
i am as ready as i ever was.
i am as in love as i ever was,
the alter is her,
her streets and walls,
her cars,
her underground,
her blessed,
her cursed,
thier faces,
the lines,
the wires,
the smokestack sky,
the lowly trees,
the hours,
the years,
the sparkling lights
of the city that has never slept,
nor woken up.
the alter is here,
my devotion is offered in myself,
my worship is every second,
every breath,
every day,
all day.
she can have them all.
March 1, 2007
thirst
try as i might,
i search for one more layer to dream,
to eat,
to smoke,
to walk,
try as i might i find just the dregs,
the echoes,
the bending and wires left from
less innocent evenings than i have ever had,
and assuredly most spelling days,
tranced,
encumbered,
and drifted as we were towards the water with a
sickness in mind.
thirst could be the most inadequate
word there ever was,
and for it the most perfect.
she rolls off the tongue with a langouring,
lingoring,
residual,
wanting step,
and by whatever was left
out when they wrote her down for the first time,
by luck
or by gods hand set it perfectly.
thirst,
for a wick of sleep,
a wisp of warm company,
or a monster truck,
so i could plow through any mother fuckers that get
in my way as i wallow homward...
need a ride???
February 27, 2007
dreams of nebraska
tonight it is rain in brooklyn, welcome, cooling rain.
more though, than the cool air,
it is the quiet that falls behind the steady rustling of falling water,
like a blanket or mask,
only the hardest sounds still make it through,
sirens and planes,
but even still they all take on the nature of something far off,
like at least i was not exactly in the center
of this delicous burrough that i adore,
and also love as much to pretend it is somewhere else.
new york is like the best kind of love affair,
absolutely infatuated,
and yet still tense,
like i know that is is something that i probably should not enjoy nor want,
but inexorably do anyway.
impossible things are my favorite,
and here is dripping with impossibility,
soaking in adversity,
resistance is as thick as the bricks that lie,
ancient,
underneath the blacktop in layers,
the old roads that were here before anyone,
the lines traced and retraced with buildings and wires and trains,
layer upon layer,
year upon year,
decade upon decade until even the earth herself has to agree
with what is happening,
and the lines of the spirit surrender and move along,
crawling with the cabs and trucks.
it is only on the wet nights
in early summer and fall that everyone gives up,
and digs in for the night,
and there is room for these ghost lines to course along,
liquid in thier fury,
feverish in thier release,
10,000 eyes,
8 million people,
one heart,
and the occasional rolling grumble of thunder,
and hiss of lonesome car tyres
dragging through shimmering streets,
bouncing headlights off of the earth
and into the clouds in a prayer
for more of whatever she has in store.
i don't care,
as long as there is more,
it is all perfect to me...
February 1, 2007
January 23, 2007
melting
today it is perfect, cool sun again,
whisps clouds draped across the cool blue,
soon it will be cold again,
all of us wrapped up,
sharp air,
stinging,
prickling the tips of toes,
hands and ears,
sending us screaming love again for all,
into nightmare dancing,
tiptoe on the sidewalk,
crystals alighting around and tumbling down,
the winter parties come too,
screaming,
howling,
from scintillating rooftops
and dragging frozen ankles through
the illuminate confetti of the first storm,
it is perfect,
quieter somehow,
calmer,
probably actually,
as most of us spend at least one
more day sleeping in,
curled under blankets and jackets,
your partner in rest becomes more than
just your favourite love,
but salvation,
the cold that creeps in from outside
is so more easily dissapated
than the kind from within,
and if i could hold herclose enough,
maybe the last of the thaw would reveal,
cold gloss receding and left the sprites of leaves
creeping through first alaskan soil,
dark as soot,
rich as gold,
but only a moments time to get a
lifes work done.
it would seem that these lives are moments,
we only have a lifetime to get a moments
work done as well.
January 1, 2007
throwing furniture
i awoke just a kid, slight haze of reflected neon from 3 stories down giving me just enough light to be able to see with tender peripherals the piles of papers and couches, and chairs and lamps and clothes and just a ton of junk that i was near buried in. there was no way i was getting to the door without first finding a light, which soon became as evidently elusive as the imagined door i thought i was looking for. i need move some of this shit. tried at first, just shuffling around, but the quantity made headway negligible...i needed to just plain lose some of this shit. i had a vague idea as to the location of the window from the dim light, and i knew it was open as the sounds of the street below was unmuffled by glass. maybe if i just push on the shit between me and the opening i could just force a bunch of it out. force. i leaned in with all of my youthful energy and spent ten minutes sweating and straining, again to no avail. try again, fail. again and again. finally quit.
so i sat, seemed for years that i sat, and tried to pretend that the shit wasn't there. which also obviously was futile. what next? maybe i could imagine myself to be not there, in the room, in the dark, surrounded by shit, surrounded by so many things that i had held onto that i couldn't even move. i got pretty good at this, so good that after a time i was almost invisible...
i awoke, just a kid, slight haze of reflected neon from 3 stories down giving me just enough light to be able to see with tender peripherals the piles of papers and couches, and chairs and lamps and clothes and just a ton of junk that i was near buried in. there was no way i was getting to the door without first finding a light. and now i was almost invisible. so i needed a new plan. cleverness, force and pretending seemed to be useless in this task. there was one last thing to try. i groped in the darkness, and searched until i found the smallest thing i could lay my hands on. i settled on a pile of papers, and grasped just one. i folded it into the smallest shape, until it wouldn't bend any more, and without knowing weather it would actually make it to the window, or if i was even aiming in the right direction, i drew back, belted forward with my arm and let go. maybe it went out, maybe it didn't. but it might have, so i figured i would try again, and after that, again, and again, and again, until the whole pile was either out the window, or else piling up around it, and at least closer to being gone than before. next was a small ball, next a shoe. i eventually made enough room to begin to rearrange again, but this time with a purpose. to clear a path to the window. small items cleared first, small battles won, bit by bit, until there was room for a lamp to be thrown, a bag, a book, and when more space appeared, more moving could be done. on and on like this, until i could vaguely see the outline of the window, and eventually had a clear path to start moving larger and larger items, eventually tables, chairs, couches piled upon couches, which required strength, but with a plan, no forcing.
before i knew it the room was clear. i almost didn't see it coming, i almost forgot it was what i was working towards. clear, empty, done. i felt my way along the wall, traced the lines of the room and eventually found it. the switch, cool plastic, easily recognizable, and not more than 1 foot from where i had initially stood.
lights on.
square room, one window directly opposite the door. empty and clear. done.
turn around and go. a moments hesitation, this room was all i had known for so long. the work had become meaningful, and even at times enjoyable in it's passage of time. but work here was done. stop, rest, take a breath, take a step, take a breath, another step, another step, another. close the door behind.
i awoke, just a kid, slight haze of neon from three stories down to guide me down the hall, down the stairs, out the door, and into the glare....
so i sat, seemed for years that i sat, and tried to pretend that the shit wasn't there. which also obviously was futile. what next? maybe i could imagine myself to be not there, in the room, in the dark, surrounded by shit, surrounded by so many things that i had held onto that i couldn't even move. i got pretty good at this, so good that after a time i was almost invisible...
i awoke, just a kid, slight haze of reflected neon from 3 stories down giving me just enough light to be able to see with tender peripherals the piles of papers and couches, and chairs and lamps and clothes and just a ton of junk that i was near buried in. there was no way i was getting to the door without first finding a light. and now i was almost invisible. so i needed a new plan. cleverness, force and pretending seemed to be useless in this task. there was one last thing to try. i groped in the darkness, and searched until i found the smallest thing i could lay my hands on. i settled on a pile of papers, and grasped just one. i folded it into the smallest shape, until it wouldn't bend any more, and without knowing weather it would actually make it to the window, or if i was even aiming in the right direction, i drew back, belted forward with my arm and let go. maybe it went out, maybe it didn't. but it might have, so i figured i would try again, and after that, again, and again, and again, until the whole pile was either out the window, or else piling up around it, and at least closer to being gone than before. next was a small ball, next a shoe. i eventually made enough room to begin to rearrange again, but this time with a purpose. to clear a path to the window. small items cleared first, small battles won, bit by bit, until there was room for a lamp to be thrown, a bag, a book, and when more space appeared, more moving could be done. on and on like this, until i could vaguely see the outline of the window, and eventually had a clear path to start moving larger and larger items, eventually tables, chairs, couches piled upon couches, which required strength, but with a plan, no forcing.
before i knew it the room was clear. i almost didn't see it coming, i almost forgot it was what i was working towards. clear, empty, done. i felt my way along the wall, traced the lines of the room and eventually found it. the switch, cool plastic, easily recognizable, and not more than 1 foot from where i had initially stood.
lights on.
square room, one window directly opposite the door. empty and clear. done.
turn around and go. a moments hesitation, this room was all i had known for so long. the work had become meaningful, and even at times enjoyable in it's passage of time. but work here was done. stop, rest, take a breath, take a step, take a breath, another step, another step, another. close the door behind.
i awoke, just a kid, slight haze of neon from three stories down to guide me down the hall, down the stairs, out the door, and into the glare....
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