| Hello sunshine |
[12 Jan 2007|04:49am] |
The clock reads 3:46
To me it’s just after midnight,
I keep odd hours,
Like the copious,
my tongue is burning,
from the rock,
and my eyes are fixated on the wall,
a cigarette in my right hand,
half drunk Gatorade in the other.
I worry,
About finances,
night pushes forward,
clocks advance,
half empty water bottles collect condensation,
the lights flicker,
power outage.
I open the window,
the ash descends onto the porch,
the filter full of chemicals stops working,
every bit of death forces it’s way into my lungs,
and it’s now one a.m. for me.
I look at my final paycheck,
I trusted the payers,
I trusted most of them
I worked hard,
I lived the job,
the Gatorade is digesting among the whiskey.
My fingers are taunt,
The nouns apposition,
Coalescing in the night,
Burning slowly,
Capturing nothing as they work their way to the surface of conversation.
What was I saying,
Oh yes,
The difference in time,
The hours in which we lead our lives,
I’ve begun to scratch my way through the wooden door,
Occasionally ash-ing my cigarette on the panels in hopes to ignite a spark,
set this premise ablaze,
and soon day light surfaces,
my three a.m. is here.
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| Let the old die young, and the young die old; because living in our time has never been life as we.. |
[18 Oct 2006|01:31am] |
I once again became void of feeling,
When the tips of ice began to emerge from the freezer,
The blocks of ice freezing over the food left for months on end,
and when the cold air meats the room temperature heat,
it reveals itself with a mist,
as the meat thaws from an open freezer,
I position myself on the stoop near the street corner,
an unthawed chicken breast atop a paper towel,
resting on my laid out hand,
and when the pigeons come to feed,
I brush them away,
And let the raw unburned meat sit in the sunlight.
After an hour of sitting,
I lay the meat down
For a homeless man or woman to fetch,
There is nothing but disorder as I lock the door to an already disheveled apartment complex,
And when I make my way upstairs to drink and lose myself in tears and whiskey,
I watch as the chicken breast is torn apart by the scavenging birds,
And when all is devoured,
a lonely man chooses to walk by,
he picks at the veins left by the birds,
and keeps to himself.
I watch out the doorway window,
and begrudgingly make my way upstairs.
The ice that had first penetrated the freezer door has melted into a puddle on the tile floor,
and most of the meat inside has thawed, making it inedible.
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| In memory of (we insert her name here) |
[13 Oct 2006|03:42am] |
When we buried you I could see my uncles veins turn from an icy cold to a luke warm
And when your ashes were spilled into the soil some came to witness the event,
But the drunken nights that ensued signified your fall as a right of passage
to a world in which you’ll know nothing of the pains on earth.
And as we replaced your eyes with X’s we knew that there was a memory for each of us to keep in your wake.
But when the final night came before the proceedings of a day known all to well,
we looked to the milky blue sky to find remorse
and kept our heads down when the preacher failed to give proper remembrance.
When we buried you I could see myself in the distant future
with fine paper and lead pencil in hand etching it’s way over your headstone;
at the final viewing we let everyone know that you made all the right decisions,
and when I see myself in years ahead framing the etchings from a Michigan placed headstone I’ll let my children know of all the shortcomings and all the strength that we tread behind in your wake.
by seeing the faces around your gravestone
[some marred by razor cuts and others by tears]
I know that when I visit your tomb I’ll copy the memories using fine tipped lead and thin paper.
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| When days tilt like a county fair roller coaster the nights seem to spin more |
[12 Oct 2006|01:24am] |
When the snow receded off the driveway we took out our bikes for a long winter's ride,
and once our legs felt numb
we parked them in Dolores Park
and watched as sun lengthened our shadows on the grassy lawns.
You said that these days were the happiest you'd ever had,
I mumbled a gesture that recited the same.
When the evening drunks began to wander the park
we picked up our bikes and rode until our legs once again ached with tension.
We locked them on a light post outside your apartment
and I said that we should probably be heading inside, that my arms were cold, and I felt like some coffee.
You told me to lock the door behind me on the way in.
We smiled as we drank our coffee
and watched the television stars dance between the crowd and the judges like a modern day Maginot Line.
We laughed and joked at their cold repetitive movements on the hardwood floors
and after a couple cups of coffee I said it was time that I'd be moving on.
The taste of fine lip gloss was enough to keep me warm on the leg numbing bike ride home,
and the winter's breeze felt warm after the many cups of caffeine.
We didn't slow dance like the men and women on the television,
but we were close enough to,
when the night ended and I woke in my own haze filled room
I waited for your call to come to spend another night at Dolores.
I waited a long time,
and then decided that this time fate just wasn't on my side.
I'm smoking a cigarette in the clean spring air,
and thinking about the days that were the happiest i'd ever seen.
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| When you look the face of death in the eyes, tell him his tortures are your most secretive pleasures |
[10 Oct 2006|12:22am] |
I lift the can to my face
And out the corner of my eye I see you staring straight through me,
With a complacent look overshadowing your dark eyeliner
Your pupils linger in my direction,
As I bring the beer down from my slightly glazed mouth
you purse your lips in quandary,
I keep a steady gaze in your direction,
And our eyes bond over the broken railing of a third story porch.
We moved inside,
The laughter dissolving the romance that once lingered in the dark,
And we waited through the night
till the party died down
and we could once again
retain our night time romance
we walked to the corner store
bought some forties
a pack of cigarettes
and made up a story of our lives lost in a weird dimension where star trek wasn’t a show but a livelihood.
We made it clear that the best intentions were the worst experiences
as we strutted to your apartment
With clear infractions of the law we drank on the streets and littered our busted smokes on the pavement below.
The walk would have killed us if not for the inebriation of hours past.
It was the walk to your apartment that sobered us up,
But the booze we bought drowned us back to the prehistoric mumbling that we had during our first encounter.
We made our way through the motions
Both to afraid to advance past a breaking point,
Yet to experienced to start with the slow sensual kissing of a sexual encounter.
We made it to the point that a cigarette was needed on the front stoop before retiring to bed,
And when we woke
there was no doubt as to sleeping in,
because the morning sun was far gone,
and the afternoon heat was bearing it’s full weight upon us
as we discarded the covers
to clench each other
while the sweat soaked itself into the white cotton sheets.
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| We did stupid things together |
[10 Oct 2006|12:21am] |
You told me I looked like trouble
I said it was just the pants,
That I was actually a pretty nice guy
Once you got to know me
Maybe it was the night air
Or the mixture of blood and cinnamon that lingered in the bar,
We slow danced to Morrissey,
And took shots to the sounds of Prince.
We stayed together until one forty-five when last shot was called and we parted ways.
We met two weeks later in the same smoky bar,
You said I looked better that night,
I said it was my new hair cut
We slow danced to Lucero
And sipped beers to them too.
My hands couldn’t stop shaking
and I could feel your knees rattling the table as we sat and smelled the cinnamon and bourbon that hung in the air.
This night we didn’t part ways until dawn,
You came home with me and we sat in each other’s arms,
You said it’s nights like these when I do something stupid,
I told you we could do something stupid together,
You needed provisions from cell phone called friends and one drunk sister.
You told me in your gut you had a feeling I was trouble,
But then you said that the mixed drinks and burritos calmed those nerves and to hell with all the others.
When dawn broke on my tiny bedroom window
You got up and left for a ride home rendezvous,
And in my stomach I had a feeling that you were more trouble than I’d anticipated,
but you played me off as the rash one with such grace.
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[20 Sep 2006|02:49am] |
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Sorry about my irresponsibility's in updating the journal. I've been very selfish lately and have been hording the poems/short stores/chapters in the novel to myself for future projects. I can see the predicaments this would put me in, seeing as how i advertise things on-line to my journal, my writings, and thoughts. None the less, i have been selfish, not because I've lingered to long in the past tense and not keeping up in my new life, but because these new days and situations have spurred new works and new things that i've been jotting down on my own accord. Let's just say that i've neglected the journal, i'll try and post the odds and ends that come with writing a poem a day, and the failures that usually comes with it. I'm to drink some more tonight...and leave you with one final farewell, and a promise to update with more prolific thoughts and irrelevant slurs.
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| The water never ceases to come. |
[20 Sep 2006|02:36am] |
With coming rains
i suck in air,
making sure to look slightly towards the rising sun, blind my eyes as i wake
and pull myself from tangled sheets and the rustled hair that rests comfortably on the pillow next to mine.
I watch the slow repetitive dips and raises in her chest,
murmur to myself
hoping my luck will remain for another day.
With the coming rains,
i can see the sun,
slowly seeping through the panes of glass,
reflecting off my mirror
and complimenting the metronome sound coming from the grandfather clock.
I hold steady for a second,
look back at the black hair and pale skin lingering in sleep on my bed,
hold an image of it in my mind
and watch the sun raise to a blissful noon before realizing
I'm too late to be early,
for the coming rains
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[17 Aug 2006|10:53pm] |
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Wind is rustling against the leaves outside. Ripping them down from the trees and letting them drift to the pavement, onto cars, against the buildings, and down the stairwells. I can hear them as the land, scrapping on the ground, moving with the shuffling feet. I can hear them fall to earth as I stare into your blue eyes. As I sift though millions of fibers on your leg, my hand pressing hard against your jeans, and my mouth caught up in a moment. But I can't define it, even when i'm so close that your heart beats next to mine. We are compelled to do what we've done so many times before. But as these leaves touch the gravel, we move closer to the dim lit bed, and i can taste you on my tongue, with my hand pressing hard against your jeans, I look to the streets and realize it's the last time that we'll meet...
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[25 May 2006|12:06am] |
Janice was sitting on the counter counting the spoonfuls of sugar, or cocaine she thought, to fill up a jar on the counter. She finally succumbed to her curiosity and got out a measuring tape and fiddled around the jar until she found it's area...about 10 ounces she thought. Horace came back into the kitchen, his long phone call to the blond woman in LA was beginning to trouble her. Janice plopped onto the floor from the counter. Horace didn't notice, he reached for the freezer and opened the door to pull out a bottle of Jameson. Obviously the conversation was a bad one.
Janice hated Horace's drinking. It was repugnant. She couldn't grasp the fact of drinking for momentary happiness, that is the line that divides most alcoholics and the normal realm of people. She always told Horace, "You drink to much" or "Drinking isn't going to make anything or anyone more appealing." But Horace could always see those comments coming, it was usually when he had at least half a fifth of whiskey or scotch in him when they went zooming past his head. Horace would shrug them off casually, making sure not to spill his drink as his shoulders when from a down to and up position, then back to a down.
Walking over to the freezer door Janice slammed her hand on the front, startling Horace.
"What the hell are you doing woman?"
"Trying to get your attention...or is that to much to ask?"
"When I'm getting a drink yes...yes it is."
Horace shoved the door back. The freezer door flung full arch and continued back as it reverberated off of the pivot point. Horace caught the door and with a grim look grabbed the bottle of Jameson.
Squalor. That was the one word Horace thought about as he moved about his trashed apartment, knocking over boxes and pushing aside cans lying deceased on the hardwood floor. The floor that had once been a treat for it's previous owners was now nothing more than a hazard for Horace. He constantly slipped on the sealant and cursed every time he cracked his head on the appliances.
"Are you going to take me out tonight?" Janice asked.
"I don't think so."
"And why not?"
"It's too late," Horace claimed with a half-hearted rebuttal.
"Too late? My grandmother goes out later than this," she said with a chuckle.
"Well then have her take you out, I'm staying in."
Horace moved towards the living room, sipping his freshly mixed whiskey and water. He had found that his patience for Janice was wearing thin lately. Janice was a second best sort of girl, and Horace was used to first prize. Horace constantly found women, but one em-particular was driving him wild at the moment, Irene: blond, luscious lips, and an ass to kill for. Horace knew she was five hundred miles away, but he wanted what he wanted, he was never one for settling for less.
Janice strolled into the living room like a school girl, biting her thumb, tugging at her skirt, desperately trying to regain his attention. Horace turned on the television. Irate, Janice grabbed the remote and threw it to the ground. She tugged and tugged at the carpeting as she beat the controller. Now on hands and knees she knew it was over between them.
Tugging at the carpet the tears began rolling down her face, her form became a bridge that was swaying with sobs. On all fours, she could only see out the corner of her eye. She saw Horace at t he front door, blowing her a kiss. She saw him exit. She never saw him again.
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[10 May 2006|02:28am] |
It's funny cuz I'm over her...but I just wanna die without you.
I can't help saying that I've jumped from one love to another, but as I grow older you're the one I look to. And I can't help but think that the moment I kissed your lips in front of my car was a moment to be cherished. It was nothing more than lust at that point, but it grew into a moment forgotten by neither of us....Damn San Diego....Damn I love that woman in my headlights, and i lover her in the whenever. She was a blossom that iI smashed out, a love that conquered me. But I was nothing compared to the men she's used to, so to her I'm nothing but a love long lost, and a non-SDSU guy long forgot.
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[10 May 2006|01:22am] |
I awoke on a boat with Jen. The rain was falling on me and her as she jumped out of the boat. I laughed and thought of the moment we kissed. Her shoulder brushed mine in that instant. But it was the connection....god it was a connection. I've never been so loaded, but i've never been so sober. She took my hand as we strolled down the beach. It was a quaint evening and the wine was harsher than the usual pinot newar. I glanced to my watch...seven twenty. I knew it was early, but it was late for her. She was up at the crack of dawn. I kissed her hard, thinking it was nothing more than a blossom of love between us. But she recoiled. Her boyfriend told her no. I kissed again. I needed an answer. I was loaded. We were loaded. I needed her more than life could have expected. She grappled with a frustrated love and an undying passion that was me. The stars started to set in the unusually humid winter air. They were for a second bluer than I. The boat rocked as we tossed ourselves back in. I told her i loved her, she said we should head back to shore. I kissed her for eternity, but then she removed those lips and started rowing. It was a long trip back. I grabbed her several times, but no move was justified with a response. The moon glistening at our tainted love affair. The moon all knowing. The moon, leaving us be. Leading us to an ending. One that i didn't want, but one that was soon to come.
She left. I cried.
It was all the moon.
It was all him.
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[09 May 2006|11:32pm] |
It was raining when Harold drove down Los Alamos St. in downtown, his back tires skid around a manhole right before he came to a stop at CJ's Bar. The old door creaked and moaned with the ferocity of a puma as his id was out then quickly back in. He slouched over the bar. The posture his mother told him to correct, but he was at the bar so what the fuck did she know.
She was blonde, or maybe auburn, he couldn't tell because of the lighting. He ordered a pint. She served it well he thought.
"What's your name?"
"Jessica," she said.
"Jessica eh."
She walked away but kept glancing over his way.
He was thinking about his stuttering and why it affected him when he was talking to Christine.
Four pints later and he was twelve pints deep. Everyone says that silence can't be broken, but Harold knew that when the silence was in your head it was nothing more than a waiting impulse for foul behavior.
Jason hadn't shown up yet, it was a quarter past twelve, Harold knew he wouldn't show.
"Anything else to drink partner?"
"Not unless you got something to cure alcoholism...but in the event that you do...i don't want it."
"You've been staring at me all night, what's your deal buddy? To afraid to ask my number?"
"No, Just to afraid to ask you for a fuck."
She recoiled with disgust, backed away and went to talk to an elder couple down on the other side of the bar. All Harold could hear over the buzz of the Laker's game was snickering and "what's his deal?"
"What's his deal" Harold thought to himself, can't she think of a better fucking line, or at least a change of words. But it went on like that until two a.m.
After Harold got kicked out of the bar he picked up a hooker...drove home and the rest of the night was a blur.
"Jessica...what the fuck did she know..."
"What?" the hooker said looking up from his crotch.
"I wasn't talking to you."
The rest of the night was a blur.
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| Lights Out. |
[03 May 2006|11:44pm] |
I've got an idea brewing in my head.
Take out the bulbs, reverse the flow of electricity...the lights are gone. We'll marvel in the darkness of it all. Piercing our souls. That night time air, so dense with black and overwhelmed by starlight.
I'll break the moon with a sling-shot, take all the illumination away from the night. We'll live in the shadows, converse of dark things, things with no form, things to hazy to be seen in the starry night.
Leave the cars at home, the lights have been shattered on the drive-way slopes.
We will walk to the destination and from there drink till a new destination arises from the murky confusion of light headedness.
The bars are open all night for drinks to be served, all that neon deceased for just one night. No more fuzzy glances. No more squinty eyes. The dingy lighting of barfly's has been replaced with blackness. We will take back the night and fill it with adolescent behavior; precursors of actions none will regret.
Turn out those lights. The suburbs have gone to sleep, but the city will be raging. A new years eve without the year or the light. Shadows linger through the streets. We make our way home by touch. Remembering the light that once illuminated our surroundings.
The keyless dormitory style homes lined with boxes and a broken bulbs. The crystal sits used on a kitchen counter dark with stains of booze and broken pills.
I can feel the bed sheets against my body, cold and comforting as our drunken speech is the only sound to be heard. We wait for mornings first light, for the time when we know that safety has finally approached and spoken with a soft whisper.
The night when everything went dark.
The night that the world renounced the livid expressions, and comforted the night.
It was a black out.
It was everything we have always dreamed.
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| Feeling alright with this. |
[01 May 2006|01:52am] |
I feel pathetic in this skin.
Riding towards bars as I'm already drunken beyond repair.
It's nothing but a religious escape from the squinting eyes and blurred vision.
I crept to a stool
grabbed my shot
and slouched over the bar to never again wake.
But
I was shaken awake and the screams in my head were drown out by voices and calamities.
I took another shot.
Felt even shittier,
and waited to die.
It was just a matter of time.
One I was willing to wait out.
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| Finally Shit |
[27 Apr 2006|12:06am] |
I can see a spot in the dark.
Waving at me...it's a jug, an old jug stripped with X's.
I can see the jug moving and moving while i'm lying with the covers to my eyes.
It's smacking the corners of posts and walls coming closer.
and it's about time that I was sick of him
but he's the only cure I know for feeling lonely,
since you left that night.
I grabbed him for heaven or hell.
And what followed was a dream of sleep
one that i actually felt.
It's about time that I was sick of him, no longer fine.
I'm only something blue.
But I found myself under layers of fear,
from when you left that night.
I've been at wits end for days upon years,
and I can't see without you by my side.
So I'm blind till my death bed.
From when you left that night.
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[06 Apr 2006|11:41pm] |
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I was so torn up tonight I made myself throw up. I can't even write. I finally broke. I broke. Fucking Christ I Broke. I can't stand it anymore. I keep talking to myself cuz there's no one left. No one. It's april. I'm another year older...another lonely year. I'm done here. Laying in bed. I'm done here. There is nothing left. nothing.....
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| One week |
[26 Mar 2006|12:54am] |
I know people die...but drop off?
That's another story.
For one week No contact through means other than speech or letterhead.
For one week none of the clutter of modern living.
One week of dropping off the earth.
One week of being dead?
It's midnight on April 1st...
I'll see you in a week.
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| Piles. |
[21 Mar 2006|02:10pm] |
After an hour of thinking and a whole two minutes of looking I have come to the conclusion that I hate looking for things. It is an useless act -- no matter how hard I try to find something, be it answers or an actual object that has been misplaced among the clutter of bedroom living. The twenty dollar bill I am looking for or the misplaced pen will turn up just after the time I needed them the most. I simply hate rifling through things, finding things that I don't need only to toss them aside into a new pile of clutter. Just when i thought something may be of use, it either breaks or goes missing once again.
I have been in houses so clean that the lack of junk throws off my internal balance, changing things that should be clear into a zone of uninterpretable matter. These "clean rooms" lie in another dimension, one so clouded with non-junk they are simply dying for a couple of shirts to be loitered across the floor or empty water bottles to lie dormant on the nightstand.
I think Pot heads are less forgetful in the storage department and think if I worked at Wal-Mart I would be Marty the new guy constantly asking where everything is.
Yet here I sit on my floor with my empty water bottles and dirty laundry smiling as I shuffle books and blankets aside to try and find my extra shoe lace and my CD that has mysteriously vanished from it's case.
If only my brain could detect the rational thought to clean a dirty house I would have never gotten myself into this mess. But alas the lazy lobes prevail and the clutter continues. So it's back to the memory banks to conjure up my lost possessions.
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[20 Mar 2006|11:09pm] |
Hey I'm Bryan, pleased to meet you. I've heard a lot about you, your nightly excursions to the bedroom window of your lover.
Hey I'm Bryan. Pleased to meet you. I've heard a lot about you, such as your day time trysts in the telephone booth on the corner of Broadway.
Hey I'm Bryan. Pleased to meet you. I've heard a lot about you, like your damn sexy voice on the receiver, and the noise you make when you're in an uncomfortable situation.
Hey I'm Bryan....I feel like we've met before.
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