Wednesday 11/29/2006

Hot Drunken Foolish Tears

Hot tears flow like they haven't fell in so very long.
Moments since I dropped you off
all these drunken words ring.I feel your suffering.
I feel your need.I feel your aloneness.I feel your desire.
We scream together.We talk together.
and I understand everything.everymotherfucking thing that
you say and feel, perfectly,and no one,absolutely no one else
gets it, accepts it, feels it, understands it
like me.You make me feel open, vunerable,
in ways I haven't felt in many many years
but different because even with the feelings then,
there were differences
and I have never, ever felt the same
as someone else, the same inside,as I do with you.

At the bar, you talk of other men near
the young and pretty
less damaged, less deep, less real
as if that is what you want.instead of me.
I'm not the youngest
the prettiest
the most simple.
the most fashionable.
I am flawed.I am however the deepest, most real
most profoundly honest
perfect reflection of your soul,
and a hell of a lot better
than any of these others
in every single possible way
that truly matters.
I mumble these words
I feel them slip on by and I suspect that
you don't want me, and maybe never will.
It feels like tigers claws in the gut.
We laugh.I'm there for you.
I offer support and strength, tiny bits of wisdom,
I mean every single word with more truth and heart
than any words I could ever speak.
You are sad and you are alone as am I.
You are cursed and blessed with
awareness of the emptiness of the world.
the void, a curse and blessing I have known
for quite some time.
We are the same, but you seem new in some ways
at this survival endeavor
eyes of the poet looking for the beauty behind the suffering
I know it, it is real and it is not in the things of the world
and absolutly not in the people of the world,
not in expectations.
But Satori is a gift not easily given.
I drop you off. I pull awayand then I am alone too.
I feel that empty feeling too.
I wish that you wanted me.as I want you.
I wish that you saw me.as I see you
I wish that you got me.as I get you.
I wish that you, feel what I do
the way I haven't in so very long if ever.
So yeah, I cry warm tears
and breathe short empty breaths
with a hollow heart.
remembering what it is to feel.
and if you are alone at home
while I type this
and you still think that no one gets you.
and you still think that no one understands
and you still think that no one loves you
still think that existence is less than just.
and you are crying too,
and you are there
and I am here
then you are right, terribly right.
and it is far far worse and alone,
than I ever imagined it could be
and that is saying a lot.
while I sleep the sleep
of the damned.

11/27/2006

small poems..?

Leaves?
like spent plum years fall,
I fall I love the plum leaves.
I love the Autumn love.
I love your smile.


Do you like entertainment?
do you like the intellect
so sorely lacking
everywhere you turn,
spin, reverse throttle?
am I not like clashing symbols?
take what you can of me
be what you can in me.
I want nothing
I am nothing
and your reflection must seem
bright and shiny in my worn smooth soul.


leave me only dignity
that is my request
I demand nothing from
anyone
asking only this.


You
dishevel me
with
your shiny
shiny shiny
eyes.


Feelings are not
the reality of consequence.
a mistake that nearly everyone makes
at some point.
reality of consequence is truth, pragmatic
or otherwise.
feelings are merely fuel
not directions.
I may love you like
a lovely waterfall loves gravity
but I am simply a humble cosmic spirit
taking only what
the universe makes available
having learned the harsh folly
of asking more.
I am only
the product this night of
much Merlot
swishy wishes
and years of love gone bad.
It's enough to make a man explode
if there was enough flesh left to
even sing
a tiny little tune.
in unison.


for you,
you deserved a better blog
perhaps
but this is all I have tonight
the drink,
the fact that that my heart has
misshaped itself like and injured trapezoid
of late.
all that.
look,
you've had some damn fine poems.
and who knows what words the future conjures
tepid field mice
banging bitter booming bells.
piercing butter knives
but sleep
and dreams await.
goodnight.

dammit I almost said
that one thing.

Wednesday 22/11/2006

Romancing The Muse

There is this talk about the muse
as if it were some invisible
mythic creature
from tales of ancient Greek.
All these old characters are
archetype though,
allegory, metaphor for the real world.
That's why these enduring images
have been invoked by
poets, artist, philosophers
psychologist, scientist.
writers and thinkers of all persuasions
for 2 thousand plus years.

The muse, you see
is an actual living breathing person.
Someone you meet that
has a certain
inexplicably proufoundly deep
effect on you
knowingly or unknowingly,
eliciting certain feelings
reactions, ideas,
inspiring new depths
of creative energy
that can become catalyst for
your most powerful work.

It's always about the human condition
what drives us upward and
what drags us down.

The problem with romancing the muse
though, is that just like the
classic mythic type,
with the human type
your muse is rarely just for you
and that same muse that inspires
you, also inspires others.

This generally means
that the muse inspiring you
is usually inspiring at least
5 other guys a well,
and who's strong enough
for that?

It's all there
nothing new
under the sky
beneath the setting sun..

Friday 17/11/2006

what they do

It must be that
when one has reached a point
that a finely shaped female ass
can be gazed upon
and NOT feel
primal urges from deep inside
that trigger needs
wants
desires to possess
and conquer
that could easily lead to
foolhardiness
rash behavior
bold words
and such.

It would be at this point
that one has finally gained
some sense of dignity
self-respect
control
inner peace and
equanimity.

I am not there,
no, I am not there
and I sometimes fear
that I may
never be there.

Wednesday 15/11/2006

Darkness 3

I'm reminded
of this one snowy snowy late night
in Denver Colorado.
It was cold as shit
and I had just lost everything,
absolutely everything a man could lose.
It was cold and
the open mic had ended
and there were these young poets
milling about everywhere
outside the café
and I was sitting
on this wooden bus stop bench
crying and crying and crying,
and the tears were practically frozen on my face.
Like I say, I had lost everything
I was alone and
everyone I had every known was far away.
Even the one person I knew in the city
was miles away.
There were frozen and unfamiliar streets
and the tears would go on for days and weeks.
I'm just reminded of it that's all.


1:14 AM - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment


Darkness 2

When I drink too much,
sometimes my melancholia comes out.
It's a melancholia
that I usually keep buried
deep deep inside.

I know,
you're thinking hey,
don't drink so much.
Fuck you
anyway though.

Somebody just take hold
of me for a bit ok?
Or forever
or something.

It's empty here
in Samsara.


1:11 AM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment



darkness 1

I
possess a darkness
that not a goddam one of you
can possibly
possibly
understand.

An aloneness
that defies anything
you can ever comprehend.

To be a poet
a real and breathing
wanting breaking
seeking knowing
convention defying
poet
on a late late drunk
drunken drunk
late night
none none
none of you
can possibly
know.

11/15/2006

If You Don't See a Boat, There's No Boat

Quite a few years back, I had this drinking buddy and he was a few years older than me, not that years mean much, but in terms of life, the real type of life that we the poets must struggle through bad jobs, and women and such, he was far more experienced a gentleman. I had spent my slowly waning youth in subculture, to his delight, experiencing wild eyed beauties and blatant Nihilism through my eyes, he shared actual real world survival mechanism with me. See, the trick is maintaining dignity even in the worst of times Something he for the most part succeeded at. People are always trying to nickel and dime you. Woman, even the best and most beautiful, are fickle and capable of levels of apathy that we men are unable to imaging until we actually face it. The jobs, they are the worst, they always want more than they give, and they never ever, have your best interest at heart, only that of the job. There is one person, and one person only that is there to look out for you. and that is yourself. Not your wife. Not the boss. Not your priest. Not even your buddies. So whatever happens, never ever let them take away your dignity. Never let them take away your hope. Never let them make you into anything other than a decent person. Hold on to that. Keep doing whatever you can. Let no one hold you down. These aren't his words, not exactly they are mine, but its what he taught me. And yeah, I've fucked shit up quite a few times since then. Lost my dignity, my self-respect, my purpose on several occasions, just like he has. Beset by those relentless forces. But I always found it again Always drag myself up again somehow. each time, and even though he hasn't been around in quite a few years It's still there His words still get me through. And it's not cynicism. It's not jaded. Nothing like that. It's just necessary up against the things we face. It's survival, and I learned it from a survivor It's all I have to get me through sometimes and I love him for it.

Monday 13/11/2006

Breakroom Love Advice

It's rough in the cubicle
hungover after
a late night and
a day in the gym, so
I get up to wash my face
and to the break room for a
Diet Dr Pepper and small bag
of Andy Capp Hot Fries.

Two dudes are eating lunch
while discussing that faithful topic
the female.

One says to the other,
"Well, if you really care about her,
and you think that there's something
meaningful there, all you can do
is pray about it, and she
will come to you if
it is in the lords plan,
regardless of what you do
or don't do"

The idea being I suppose
that God almighty
is the ultimate dating service
and that your action, inaction
boldness, foolishness, cleverness
all of it, means nothing.

I bend down to retrieve my soda
and feel a slight but familiar pain
in my gut, and know
it's not from the previous days crunches
it's not from the previous night's liquor
no, it's the slight abiding pain of
every single female I've every felt
that longing desire for
that these gentlemen are discussing.

Silly break room dudes,
there is no God
to hear your prayers,
no fate to fall back upon.
Only the fickle, capricious,
and sometimes cruel
heart
of the female.
Along with
whatever little wisdom
your life may have brought you,
and sheer dumb luck.

That's all there is.
I wish him the best.
Hell,
I wish me the best
as well.

48 Min - 11/13/2006

Waking up I think of you,
longing to wake beside you entangled,
already connected.
Oh, how I would whisper a few sweet words,
caress the hair above your ear
and kiss you gently upon the mouth.
It's a pure desire.
I want that morning still, in dusk light slight
pull back, smiling going down for the fifth.

That's what I like, to devour a woman
of taste and beauty drinking in your essence
like a starving desert madman spinning in surreal epiphany
coming with time and desire
going with the flow
arriving at time stand-still moments flashed
where tiny moist final kisses hang in suddenly silent air.
My dreams of you are like razor sharp Japanese wind chimes
a million gasps for air sliced atoms in the morning
like pictures in the sky.
I just feel, it's just a feeling
that if I could gently hold you, large arms wrapped
for 30 seconds
for 90 seconds
for 180 seconds
for 360 seconds
for 720 seconds
for 1440 seconds
for 2880 seconds
that somehow
no excruciating words would be necessary
and the time would come.
I could exhale
and release this breath
that I've been holding in my dreams.

tiny pretty square faces

Sunday 11/12/2006

Looking through the bulletins
for something
I see the pretty face of
a female that I made out with
with zeal and passion in the car,
and at the bar
quite some time ago.
Nice,
nice memory
and then I see another
right above her
whoa, hot also, very nice
She was something
like a train
damn..
scroll through
see a third.
like sweet candy
It hits me,
I've had some damn good luck,
despite it all.
Nothing to fill me up
no lasting truth
no one to love,
but still, those small square pictures
tell a tale that
would make anyone smile.
It was enough to keep it going.
except lately though several months I suppose
I seem to have grown a vagina.
Out of nowhere.
Distressing really.
I don't know,I guess
I just hit this point where
I was ready for the other
you know
the real face
and not the tiny square one.
except the problem being
it seems like
I'm the only one.

I hope that you like me...

Saturday 11/12/2006

I really want you to like me,
but I guess I'm kind of scared
sometimes to show the whole thing.
See the thing is, this guy you see
kind of charming, laughing
having good time
confident in writing
and up on the mic
the guy who takes you around everywhere
and seems to have hundreds of friends
that seem to love him
maybe even look up to him
seek his input.
What I'm saying is
that yes…
this is me
I can be powerful and confident
socially
artistically
all that
It's real, most of the time
no falsity here.
But the thing is,
that's not the whole picture.
There are some real flaws too.
Other times..
I can fall into these boughts of melancholia
or wacky thinking benges.
Especially during my creative periods
when my poet senses are opened wide.
I can get abstract and a little weird
and sometimes all this inside stuff comes bubbling up
fears, insecurities, frustrations, regret, sadness
really the whole ugly range of human emotion,
weakness, and frailty.
I'm not terribly fond of it all
but it is me
a part of me
and I have to embrace it
and I need anyone close to me in my life
in whatever capacity
to embrace it
or at the very least accept it
and give me space when needed.
Although to be honest I do have
plenty of space in my life already
so I kind of prefer the embracing
and the being there.
Anyhow, that's it…
It's really no big deal
I'm actually a pretty mature,
reasonable and experienced
fellow
I've got good filters.
So I'm usually pretty self-contained
not much of a problem
just a little weird and moody
at times,
that's me.
I hope you like me.
No seriously,
I really hope that you like me.

Post Modern Orphic Hymn (? late Oct? 06)

French fry forearm
tendons.
Contract. Release.
Tambourine plink ping breathing
Diet soda can. Big gestures
When I lean back, clad black at
the stroke of midnight arms
falling palms down facing. Plink
again. Neck roll concentric crackling
like footsteps on shattered glass.
All for the world.
All for the world I think,
as some wild June thunder busts it up.
See that puff of smoke that rises there as I exhale thusly?
Oh, its all full of French Canadian Clown Music
entangled in fine gravel dusk memories.
where we stood inside the time stream.
Watch it float up and away taking lost spectacle
elsewhere. shredded memories no good when
the tall grass has known death and resurrection
time and again since the slipping away
of wishes, days, and clock tics.
A can song fades to black..
Elysian Mysteries thunder as embodiment
Its different to be me.
Nothing anyone
would understand.

Friday 10/11/2006

2 kinds of suffering

Look, the main problem
with being pathologically existential is
these freaken moments of terror.
See, most people, they suffer because of attachment
because love is painful, desire is consuming
humans are dishonest and such.
It's like being on fire all the time in a very real way.

The pathologically existential though
at least in those dark moments,
suffer for the exact opposite reason.
Not attaching too much meaning
to the goings on of the world,
but rather that every single thing in existence
loses all meaning whatsoever.
All processes, all phenomena, all beings, all views
Seem all at once perfectly empty and void
lacking in any meaning, purpose or truth.
Unless you've somehow managed
to make peace with this in some larger fashion,
some clever enlightenment
It can actually be absolutely terrifying…

which is odd because even terror
should be empty
perhaps the proper word is nullifying.

Usually when faced with such moments
one must try to engage themselves once again
as quickly as possible
into worldly attachments,
despite the known suffering there.
I suppose the trick to surviving it all
at least for those of us who can't seem to transcend it
(hence the pathology aspect)
is the balancing act.
attachment detachment
back and forth
seeking an acceptable level of both
manifesting inside any given moment.

It's not as easy as it sounds.



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The God Process, or stop your silly prayers ( 10/11/2006)


Look I have to tell you, you lovers of God
the anthropomorphic type in particular
that there is absolutely no reasonable rational,
no compelling evidence, no logic
To support the existence of your mystic mythic
daddy in the sky archetype.
It's a very low level belief,
mythic magic I believe is the term,
and it's entire premise and anything
it might actually offer as far as
real meaning to the human condition
is silly and childlike.

Don't get me wrong, I would love to believe.
I tried to for many years as a young man,
that would be great, some all powerful
loving invisible creator that's on your side
that is going to step in and make things like
totally all better at some unspecified nebulous point
down the line. Nice idea sure, but hardly
responsible or mature thinking.

Anyway, the universe is anything but friendly and loving
It's full of suffering, separation, longing and tragedy.
Well, from a strictly materialist view,
the universe is actually pretty morally neutral,
and we are projecting value to random events,
various chemical interactions and quantum processes.
But assuming you do have a spiritual bent
and assign certain a priori values to existence,
then your God if he existed wouldn't in fact be very loving at all,
no he would in fact be a big stupid cruel selfish
torturing bullying asshole.
I mean imagine having the power to ease all suffering
and simply refusing to exercise it,
choosing rather to go with some dodgy long term strategy
involving original sin, breaking the will of your pets,
and something about eternities burning in hell,
all very nasty and spiteful stuff.

There is however one idea that might explain
the existence of GOD.
Evolution
on all levels, systems of all types, show
the tendency for all systems, all entities all phenomena
to evolve toward increasing complexity
So, imagine taking the largest possible view,
that someday somehow the entirety of all existence
reaches a maximum point of evolution
and the entirety of the universe having reached
ultimate complexity has become one single entity
encompassing everything there ever was.
I say ever was, because obviously at some point
concepts of linear time and space would lose meaning.
The idea here is kind of beautiful actually,
that each and everyone of us in fact every facet of reality,
is actually part of one big cosmic process of enlightenment
all evolving together into beautiful oneness,
at the very pinnacle creating a being
who is the combined essence of everything that ever was.
This would be God. All knowing, all encompassing
beyond all duality in the only way it would ever be possible
to be beyond duality by being everything.
All of us. We are God in the making,
all living and unliving things.
ALL things in fact.

There is one rub here though,
God in the end becoming everything,
It's own beginning, it's own middle,
the whole process wouldn't exactly exist
either inside or outside linear time
But rather encompass both.
And the suffering that we face,
is in fact the process itself
The growth of the universe, the infancy of God
The crashing of dualities in the violent slow process
of becoming one.

This means, that in the end, it just is what it is.
Necessary. Just that.
God couldn't intervene in the affairs of
we time trapped singular beings any more than
you could intervene in your own childhood,
were you To suddenly develop time travel,
without destroying who you are today.
In this view. God is no longer a cruel, rule making task master
that ignores suffering, but from our perspective,
is simply god in the making
that is suffering in itself.
The enlightenment machine.
Samsara and Nirvana equally necessary for the outcome,
no end result, no beginning spark,
the whole of existence looping back in upon itself
within in the siren song of infinity, the music of the spheres.

So.. You want to love God?
then simply love all existence.
But… I wouldn't try pleading for salvation
Praying for intervention in the lotto
or keeping the tire from going flat.
Asking for your sports team to win
or your side in a war
is all pretty futile.
Some of you might think that this is a God that is pretty impotent then,
unable to grant your wishes,
and in some respect you would be right.
But mostly you would be wrong,
as things are simply what they are, in the end anyhow,
despite your wishes
and this all encompassing god idea, would actually be
well, everything that there is,
and that's a pretty big deal.



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No Salvation in All Those Faces (10/11/2006)

I understand suffering and the alienation
of existing between the moments yet
somehow I've never quite possessed
that youthful naiveté
that leads one to believe that
salvation or even brief respite lies
in some group of friends
some social network or another.

It made me different than most.

Don't get me wrong
I've had years and years of social roles to play
this scene that scene
endlessly it seems
possibly hundreds of friends over the years,
But somehow I always
not so deep down knew
that these people were not my salvation
that really, all these eyes and ears and fingertips
expressed opinions and mouths and choices
and speech
were way more the problem
than any type of solution
not that there weren't some great ones along the way
ones to learn from
ones to enjoy and such
but there is no solace
never ever ever in this.
Ever.

I was always more inclined to believe
that some truth was to be found rather
in love
real true love
a troubadour type ideal really
even long before I knew what Troubadours were.
of course this quest itself has proven tricky
and fraught with pitfalls
but that is another story entirely.



10:23 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

--I Think of You--Tuesday 11/7/2006

Thinking of you
a bumblebee buzzes past my ear
a squirrel scampers across my path
leaves crinkle
an airplane trails aslant the sky.

It occurs to me while exhaling,
that all my hopes and dreams
are rough echoes,
the stuff of mad hauntings.

And that you are like molten mercury
dripping sunlight piano music in the
dark void between the lights.

We are the same, and we are different
I simply wish with all the might
of a poem
that you might do
what you do
while being you
with me.


3:00 PM - 4 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove

Sexiest of People.--Friday 11/3/2006

Sometimes the very
sexiest of people are just sitting there,
not doing, or trying to be
anything at all.

For instance, in a chair
speaking thinking listening
maybe the eyes scrunch a little
while undertaking some task
and they have a face that sits
upon this neck which connects
to this body and it just does what it does
just the right way without pretension
or self-consciousness.
there are legs, they flow down
shaped just so, bending at the proper place
leading to feet.

It's all perfectly normal.
And their brain is working
they are doing something
and being something
creating something
speaking in a voice that
is exactly how a voice should be.
a good voice.
It's just right there,
the way it is,
the perfect sexy beautiful human picture.

And in these moments
confronted with such things
I just try to keep it going
say the usual stuff
ignore all the chattering voices inside
forget about the way
the electrons in the air are
doing all this weird shit.
Mostly awestruck,
I just wonder if this,
the subject of my attention
is fully aware of her casual effect,
the recreation of seconds she creates,
and if I will ever, ever,
actually speak such words aloud.


11:50 AM - 6 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove

Monday 10/30/2006-Your Vagina is Not Made of Gold

To some of you ladies,
I hate to break it to you
but,not a goddam one of you
has a vagina made of gold.
No, seriously
somewhere along the line
you may have gotten the mistaken
notion, that somehow yours was, that
it was somehow different or better
than all of the thousands
or millionsof others.
Get over it.

Well, certainly there is different packaging
but even with thatit's really no big deal.
So you have nicer curves here or there
than some
Ok,that makes you interesting for about
15 minutes
24 hours at best.

But this whole thing
about the gentlemen
needing to jump through hoops
and pass various trials and such
just to get some time at
your golden vagina,it's tiresomereally,
when most of you are vapid empty whores
at best.
It may get you somewhere
but, its not going to get you far.

Men that fall for your act,
will for the most part be
inexperienced
ignorant
shallow
self-serving
lonely
brutish or
cruel.
Good Luck with that.

As for me,
this falsity means very little.
If there is enough there
to generate any interaction between us at all,
You won't be the only one evaluating.
See, I don't need you
or you golden vagina.
If I'm going to seek any type
of female companion,
I need a whole lot going on
in the heart,
in the brain
and in all the invisible places
that make up a real
living breathing human being.
and separates us
from the mannequins
no tests
no trials
no hoops
no back flips
the only thing you'll get from me
is honesty
respect
humanity,
and the pleasureof getting to know what I
am all about,
if you are interested.

that is,
if you are way more
than your vagina
and I am
way more than
just another potential
patsy.
or a player in your game.

Poem About A Female Poet--(10/25?)

It offends my sensibilities a bit
I suppose,
thinking of her alone.
(although I'm sure she doesn't have to be)
Sitting alone
Sleeping alone
Eating alone
Watching television alone
Driving in her car alone
Typing out poems alone.

It seems a travesty considering
that there is
so much more to her
than most.

She is beautiful without being vain.
Intelligent without being haughty.
Stylish without being shallow.
Passionate without being unmanageable
Soft spoken without being shy.
Responsible without being tedious
Capable without being overbearing.
Worldly without being cynical.
Confident without being aggressive.
Deep without being sullen
Talented without being ego driven.

A very fine woman.
Oh yes,
and the other thing;
She can write,
I mean really write.
Her poems grab you
with fire and beauty and guts.
Revealing and honest and sharp.
Sometimes taking your breath
or making the heart skip.
It's something.

I suppose that's why thinking of her alone
seems unjust.

I mean,
I'm no accomplisher of great things
no mover of mountains
shaper of destinies.
I get some good lines down sometimes
and that's about it.
But that,
that I could do,
make that female poet not alone
I could do that
That would be easy.
Like dancing through an orchard.
singing in the shower
whistling along
eating a slice of pie, or
smiling at the moon.

Yes,
that I could do,
given opportunity.
That I could surely do
oh yes,
yes yes yes yes yes.



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I do remember --Friday 10/27/2006

Just the other day,
I recieve an email from a female
that I have not seen in many
many years.
she askes;
"Hey, do you remember me?"
which I thought was rather odd
considering
that age the age of 17,
she was the first female to
suck my cock.
(I wasn't sure how to respond.)
So yeah,
I do remember,
and any man alive
that says
that they don't remember
that woman
from their past,
is a fucking
liar.

unsuitable suitors-Monday 10/23/2006

She tells me of many men who pursue her.
"ah, many suitors " I say
She laughs, "Yes, but all unsuitable."
"unsuitable suitors" I quip,
we both laugh.

I picture her then
A tattooed pierced post-modern Penelope
in pre-fab Ithaca.
Weaving and unweaving her tapestry
Deconstructing the self as a ploy of sorts
buying time.
Steadfast, single minded, uncreated.
coming to believe that Odysseus
lost Odysseus,
was never more than a dream.

She smiles and blinks
and kisses me with a rare passion.
Sure, I am the lost warrior from upon unkind seas
deadly islands and no win scenarios.
True. But I'm not sure
I'll ever be anyone's returning hero ever again.
A kind and broken one perhaps
but likely unsuitable
all the same.


6:06 PM - 3 Comments - 5 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove

The Illusion of the Linear---- Wednesday 10/11/2006

Frayed quantum ribbons freefall backward
connecting like so much spiritual filament
fleeting moments tiny worlds unseen pathways
each entirety, self-contained each entity
corporeal only insomuch as a journey casting
pale shadows of solidity can be
considered substance.

Sentience, only a series of perceived changes
in direction. Grasping backwards
creates the past. Time is only space.
in very tiny increments,
but only movement, one direction or the other.
The rest is evolutionary biology
adaptations superimposed upon particles
and waves existing merely to facilitate functionality.

All souls, are lost souls.
Immortality, and the illusion of the linear.
Consciousness, cherished self-awareness
holy of holies all this crazy pride and
struggle is no more than connected dots,
flapping broken temporal strings
blowing backwards in ionic voids.

no less than the madness of the divine.

Fleeting Moments Proceed Our Actions -Monday 10/9/2006

The suffering of the single second,
the solitary nature of moments,
this is what causes difficulty
makes it all something that must be endured.
It's not the happenings, themselves
although we might think that.
It's not the oh so aloneness
acerbic disappointment grinding betrayal.
Not who you want and don't want.
The having and not having.

It's just that every love loved
dream dreamed
idea idealized
desire desired
reason reasoned
want wanted and
action put in action.
takes place in a single moment in time.

Then we are thrust forward through
the necessity of consciousness alone,
starting over in the next. living
every single moment solitary, burning up,
fleeting, always clinging fast to the moment before.
We torture ourselves. Not allowing simple manifestation.
Seeking always to capture possess,
manipulate and own, people, objects, events,
ideas emotions and thoughts.
Perceived phenomena
already passing as we grasp at them.

Sometimes, I get there
breathing in and out Spiritus Mundi,
where none of it matters
the hurting stops
All value becomes relative.
All truth partial.
All ideas constructs.
This is love.
This is silence of mind.
This is the other side.
There is only one path
Moments can not be rewound.
Time can not be stopped.
Events can not be undone.
Choices can not be changed.
No, nothing sideways
No over it No around it
No shortcuts.
Suffering must be embraced,
experienced. lived and understood.
Only by immersing oneself in the suffering
of every single second. grabbing it
without hesitation or mercy and loving it
the way a fire loves
only then does the suffering cease to burn
in each moment and the moments themselves
melt away into the conflagration
of that which simply is.

I will love easy.
grasp easy
let go easy.
breathe easy
take it easy.
Be free of all the things that came before
and live without fear of that which is coming next.
It's the only way, here among all the things
that are really less than they seem..

Mad Charm Ensuing-Friday 10/6/2006

The room was loud
poets shouting into the mic
to be heard over the swirling crowd,
Merlot sipped and clinked.
smoky whiskey smiles.
verse running away deep into the night.

Resting upon the
devastatingly beautiful
young poet chick to my right.
Resting upon the
astonishingly beautiful
young poet chick to my left.

The beauty of it
of them
of the instant like a thousand thousand
golden moon beams running crazy mad.
dreaming king of shining heavens
while waterfalls spill upon the dust.

Oh yes, my friends that's where I like it
right there. living deep
cracked open and exposed
exploding inside moments
such as those.



7:31 PM - 5 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

The Devil and Poeticus-Wednesday 10/4/2006

The devil lives in mustard spots

ink blots

tic click clock tocks.

helicopter slow-motion time delay

static belay.

blind destiny

inhumanity

is evil as evil was evil,

redemption like a buzz saw

stray cat screetch scratch claw.

the round a bout.

secrets out.
The devil lives in men

in their eyes

shorn finger nails

Rubella breath

tubular glances

mating dances

fallout doubt

squeeze and shout.

The devil is in every man

who is not like me.

small, while I am large.

quiet, while I am loud.

opportunistic, while I am honor bound.

dark, while I am light.

common, while I am peculiar.

clad in timely regular garb,

looking like an asshole

brims reversed.

well rehearsed.

While I in twisted mannerism am

clad as circus sideshow Errol Flynn

urban commando

a monkey's uncle

anachronism disheveled.

The devil,

he is you. the way you walk.

ostrich feathers.

burnt up anus

concrete tunnel laughter

faster disaster.

I don't dig it,

golden and alone

in the shining city.

devils burning in broken worlds.

Outside of time.

reasons for an epic suicide- Wednesday 9/27/2006

pushed buttons
open windows
shadows that embrace
ill-shaped torsos
back pocket circles.
silent red brick walls.
Cumulous Christ.
shards of paper on December grass.
unmoving doorknobs.
empty closets
paper towels wafting to the ground.
hands on clocks.
cracked dashboards
Et spiritus sanctum
Elliot Ness
Byzantine poets
rats and roaches
run over cats
dead dogs
stolen cars
bags of linen.
candles in smokey rooms
hot air balloons.
spray painted light bulbs.
harbinger Moons.
Swiss Avenue.
puppy, bunny, cat
South African girls.
shards of Glass.
alienation.
The Kansas Tollway
one armed omens
smiling faces bursting from red darkness.
Black Justice.
black and white photos.
a dozen roses.
Thanksgiving night.
needles and spoons.
thirty six, thirty seven, thirty eight
green eyes.
lotion massages
wax teeth.
Cowboy Jim.
passing notes
rites of passage.
Oprah Winfrey
vagina vagina vagina
tortured mannequins
Cul- De- Sacs.
Pneumonia
Patchouli
guys named Jeff
Black Septembers
Crash Rescue
went calling wildfire
the milk bar
Cervix Couch
touch screen data collection devices.
this sweet child madness
apple cinnamon
U haul Trucks
pornographic videos
Café Brazil
yellow suns
Star Bellied Sneeches
just before words come out
the coming Apocalypse
When Harry Meet Sally
Who Moved My Cheese
Bermuda grass
paper Acid
lung cancer
Magic Valley
the sincerity of strippers.
El Pluribus unim
The Aniki
The Illuminati
North Carolina
blowjobs in the woods
dyed red hair
French maid outfits
blackberry wine
ex husbands
ex wives
electric eels
The code of the Samurai
tears are delightful
cigar burns
sexy Jeeps
un excitement
the gap between them
ball caps
French Canadian Circus
black birds and brown birds
the book in the underwear drawer
the best one night stand ever
werewolf faces
project management.
all you can eat buffets
American Pie
strategic alliances
swimming pool penetration
broken promises
green shirts
family Christmas
Colic babies
wooden floors
Batman costumes
shaving our heads
Highway Sixty Seven
broken security badges
shopping carts and trees
silver heroes
walk in closets
climbing through windows
home networking
boiled Marijuana
conspiracy websites
Jasmine and Lavender
credit card debt
plaid shirts
red tile
horses in fountains
under the freeway
stabbing silent air
1991
flat tire on the highway
madhouse window ledges
female teardrops
all the Heathers
guys names Lyle
a punch in the head
lesbians
Bob Crain movies
tiny arms
eyes that blink
cigarette cherries
dreaming blue turtles
lunches
the wrong kind of boots
back up diskettes
throat cancer
too much lip gloss
dead in a jail cell
thunder stick
fat grams
Molly Mc butter
the Viper
Selective singles
sleep walking short shorts
yellow striped shirts
Jimbo
girls who smoke cigarettes
unkind habits
reasoned betrayal
uniform lockers
too many vaginas
The right of it
The wrong of it
Gun butts
Police chiefs
Pills
Therapists
process servers
fleeting moments
a waisted mouthful
the word goodbye
nothing anyhow poor dear
happy birthdays
swing sets
Ho Che Min
feline windchimes
shitty diapers
the last time in the street
unreturned keys
bamboo poles
a rage that knows no right or wrong
the days
the nights
the weeks
the years
the notions
the dead ones
the happy ones
the cruel ones
the alone ones
the terrible terrible terrible one
sall the moments
all the moments
never coming back.

grinding moments between-Friday 9/22/2006

These dreary words you sputter
snort and wheeze like
retrograde asphalt they
sting like forever dead fish
dropped butter dish
silent mother scream
aerosol exploding vagabond bastard
one-armed harbinger
slippery sidewalk ripped off
into vaseline sky like
backwards lightning.

Anyhow, forever is just a season,
and it all goes the way of
dodgy dreams where gaping holes
lead to far off places.

Dusty books
decapitated ducks
and Spring.

Starving Quantum Want - 9/22/2006

A mustard stench
that condemns every
passion
spit
from torn lonesome breaths
and bits.
Shit and shame
Disaster and deliverance.
Withering Jupiter razor
shady echoes.
Someone come
and
unforsake me
like ice
and
ice like
things.

all the shit we put into it- Tuesday 9/12/2006

Sometimes smoking cheap cigars and sipping cheap merlot,
alone in some corner at the bar,
I still think about you and can't help but
fixate somewhat on the whole thing
and where it all went wrong.

Yeah, there's the good times
like making love night after night under spray painted light bulbs
with that window unit humming and hanging there remaking the air
that we came together in. We laughed and fucked and never let go
of one another and talked in hushed tones about one hundred million things,
and it was as though we lived on the edge of it all,
and that it would always be like that, apart from the world, together, no one else,
doing it all and making it happen.

In some agendas though the gods are surreptitious,
cold quiet fertile rooms never more than Harvest moons.
Spilling life into you. Pulling life from out of you.
One time. Two times. Three times.

What are all these things we cling to?
This madness, this linear nightmare of crashing moments
racing fate, and rotted ideas. Cracked and silly promises
Wistful blinks of eyes and belly kisses.
Love like a struck match, like refrigerator scarred doorways.
Like drying dishes. Like time clocks. Like pastel towels.
Like broken telephones. Like poolside. Like rats on wooden floors.
Like lightning storms, Like scorn. Like sperm. Like self-help books.
Like mortgage. Like desperation. Like empty gestures,
repeating words and vacancy eyes.

You were like this. a puff of smoke, a sweet wine.
You were everything there ever possibly was.
You were my guts, my heart, and my balls,
but mostly, you were a hell of a lot of work.
And it was hard work. Without break.
It never got easier, only harder all the time.
Work for it. Work for it. Work for it.
Every breath a demand. Every thought indignation.
Every effort, every word an assertion toward
Self-securing control lacking in honest self-reflection.

With all the thousand things you were.
With all the thousand things you could have been.
You never ever could let go of those things that made you
so much less than what you were.
Something special.
Something actually worth all that work.
Big build up, Big let down.
In the end you failed yourself,
but even worse, you failed me.

ticks and tocks. burning clocks

its these moments.
burning like the trash dump outside of town
burning like the guy being ignored by a woman
burning like the face, the flesh of a thousand nighttimes
burning like the sudden realization that all women are now on Myspace
burning like a little Black Spot on the Sun Today
the same old thing as yesterday..
Burning like the name of another man with your children
Burning like your friends knowing well the same terrible
torrid gaping maw women that you have known
burning like no one understanding.... why things happen...

I am a tiger
I am a corpse
I am a god
I am a beggar..
I am the universe
I am nothing
I am surrounded by love and laughter and joy
I am alone, all all all alone....
polar icecap....death inside the million rebirths
between the top and the bottom alone.
I am a burning fire
I am a puff of smoke..