They feed her coke and whiskey till she passes out
Then the boys get frisky and they pass her about
As if she were the pipe that they smoke from
And she don’t want to know so she plays dumb
Those feelings of accepting she gets from their addressing
their own misguided pleasure
keeps her unsure of whether
they really care
she’s doesn’t want to face it
I make her aware
With my gaze pass her shoulder
She’s heartbroken there
I wonder how to erase it
She says it isn’t fair
And I’m wishing that I could hold her
Intentions are the best when you walk into her place
but insecurities get the best and she don’t discriminate by case
her defenses are mended several times so when you tell her you love to seeher
she without thinking recalls her horror in the mirror
when they beat her many times, or said she looked ugly and fat
and though doctors love to tell her she don’t have to worry about that
she always assumes
nobody really cares
she doesn’t want to face it
I make her aware
By looking her in the eye
And she faces her heartbreak there
But only for a second
Till she says it isn’t fair
And later I break down and cry
The risk is the worse part, summoning up her strength
And after 6 months she finally says “you know we are going out”
And he says ok after joking about it for a great length
And with some help she confronts abusers though not her own
And it helps her feel so much stronger trying to protect those kids from
their own home.
So with much contemplation she decides to depart
With some confidence and all our hearts
She heads off understanding
we all care
And shes happy to face it
I make her aware
my head pressed to her shoulder
And I hear her heart beating there
And wonder why they tried to erase it
So I say a little prayer
For her safety while I hold her - hoping it won’t be the last time.
*****wrote this in about 15 minutes after a take back the night and before an open mic… Its about three people I care about, or rather its about things that happened to them (abuse), and their struggle/my struggle to deal. I think its pretty disrespectful to chalk this up as a culminating event of their lives, and thus Im sorry that I don’t have something better to say. But its hard for me to deal with the fact that this came so easily to me, its hard to deal with the fact that I could add about 15 people I care about to this list without really even thinking… anyway… I write things like this hopefully to inspire hopefully to share that there are people who still care, and hopefully to let others know they aren’t alone.****
*****Video: I made this spring 2007. I was trying to put myself in the mood I was in when I wrote it so its kind of emotional... but because my camera only takes 2 minute clips I had to splice two clips together thus there is a really bad editing part before the last stanza. Hope this isnt too weird*****
Friday, April 07, 2006
the nights adventure (spring 2006)
Spin Spin room room
whirl you, talk you, smoke n swirl
Spiral cascade fall and
Fill in, the cracks we have left
What’s your name again?
I found a dame, a damaged soul
And what was left
We couldn’t contain
Watched it seep and spill and soak
It rattled us, and choked our throats
It was then someone smiled
and dully commented
That life was a dream
We agreed and
having “firmly” cemented “our beliefs”
we drank the red nectar to give us wings - again
…so much heavier from the rain this time….
But upon the town we hit and hurried,
Scurry scurry to catch the train,
And when we missed, remorse was scarce
Dining thoroughly upon adventure
the evening’s main course
Suppose we came to some sacred place,
hardly aware but the thrill and vibe
and music leapt from creak and corner
further instilling the dance in us
and the notion, the hope… that this feeling would never subside
****this isn’t about one night, its about a number of crazy nights in hostels and other places where the night cant contain the excitement, and with that, sometimes sad and horrible things happen, and sometime people choose to ignore and move on trying to remember the beauty of the night…. Its also in a way about the beautiful places in the world that give you that kind of energy…****
whirl you, talk you, smoke n swirl
Spiral cascade fall and
Fill in, the cracks we have left
What’s your name again?
I found a dame, a damaged soul
And what was left
We couldn’t contain
Watched it seep and spill and soak
It rattled us, and choked our throats
It was then someone smiled
and dully commented
That life was a dream
We agreed and
having “firmly” cemented “our beliefs”
we drank the red nectar to give us wings - again
…so much heavier from the rain this time….
But upon the town we hit and hurried,
Scurry scurry to catch the train,
And when we missed, remorse was scarce
Dining thoroughly upon adventure
the evening’s main course
Suppose we came to some sacred place,
hardly aware but the thrill and vibe
and music leapt from creak and corner
further instilling the dance in us
and the notion, the hope… that this feeling would never subside
****this isn’t about one night, its about a number of crazy nights in hostels and other places where the night cant contain the excitement, and with that, sometimes sad and horrible things happen, and sometime people choose to ignore and move on trying to remember the beauty of the night…. Its also in a way about the beautiful places in the world that give you that kind of energy…****
Idolatry (2004-5)
(inspired by a feeling, Shakespeare’s Juliet, and the words of john Frusciante, “we met you through your fortune, you’re made of high, you slipped through the streams of the city, we slip your mind. How high How high?”)
Its subtle the way you borrow our interest for moments of your eternal-grace-us-with-your-presence and we pray for more, and talk about you behind your back and wonder why we swoon so. Wherever you go we follow and follow your thoughts and hope to be amongst them. The crowd of them so illogical and genius mesmerizes if it was caught in your sweat we chase after with sponges and rags and catch every drop the closer to your intellect the better. Yet as you strut which we call a walk, we begin to notice the swing, we begin to notice we’re disposable you need but snap and have several new believers the cult of outside the box thinking, the new popularity and we all become junior high students again worried about the notes and maybe for a few of us the joints in our lockers. Its unjust I pin this on you! Its unjust you jest this way with our hearts all too unnecessary palpitations. I palpitate for you, forgive me. I palpitate against you, forgive me. You’re at least one sin to me, give me time to figure out which for it changes by the minute and by your very real facial gestures. Gesturing this way and that and ever so often gesturing in our direction and capturing our soul and squeezing as if to allow us to breathe again and then cutting us off mid breath to hold it so as not to make a sound or disturb your ear the hair on your neck your thought process. Your very beautiful poetic nonsense that we don’t even threaten to imagine questioning, redirecting, but only passing on “oh my God did you hear what was said?” As if it wasn’t already echoed through the halls of our very real eternity caught in sitting at your table and walled away abruptly at the whim of your indifference. Please tell me a story a joke a word off your tongue but end it sweetly with a smile and I’ll die in contentment for awhile. Oh its not right I blame this on you, its not right the way you show you blame us with your inconsistent attention. Package yourself and not your derision, sell us disks we can replay on our computers our music players our instrument of choice, we will play games with you and know joy we will walk with you playing in our ears and know bright days, we will spoon feed ourselves you and not know hunger we will touch ourselves with you and place you inside us and know true fulfillment. We will cry with you and laugh and dream and sigh, cover our wounds with you, mask our frail and freakish insides with you, sing with you, walk and talk with you, smoke you as comforting as opium pillows, cuddle with you, throw away our piggy banks cuz who needs change? Throw away our addictions cuz who needs anything at all when as one with your glory?
*****this is about hero worship and such, and yeah I had some one in mind, but I think its way out of proportion here, and I really enjoyed taking the thought that far… imagine being so extreme in everything… only a couple people know who its about and i hope they keep it a secret***
Its subtle the way you borrow our interest for moments of your eternal-grace-us-with-your-presence and we pray for more, and talk about you behind your back and wonder why we swoon so. Wherever you go we follow and follow your thoughts and hope to be amongst them. The crowd of them so illogical and genius mesmerizes if it was caught in your sweat we chase after with sponges and rags and catch every drop the closer to your intellect the better. Yet as you strut which we call a walk, we begin to notice the swing, we begin to notice we’re disposable you need but snap and have several new believers the cult of outside the box thinking, the new popularity and we all become junior high students again worried about the notes and maybe for a few of us the joints in our lockers. Its unjust I pin this on you! Its unjust you jest this way with our hearts all too unnecessary palpitations. I palpitate for you, forgive me. I palpitate against you, forgive me. You’re at least one sin to me, give me time to figure out which for it changes by the minute and by your very real facial gestures. Gesturing this way and that and ever so often gesturing in our direction and capturing our soul and squeezing as if to allow us to breathe again and then cutting us off mid breath to hold it so as not to make a sound or disturb your ear the hair on your neck your thought process. Your very beautiful poetic nonsense that we don’t even threaten to imagine questioning, redirecting, but only passing on “oh my God did you hear what was said?” As if it wasn’t already echoed through the halls of our very real eternity caught in sitting at your table and walled away abruptly at the whim of your indifference. Please tell me a story a joke a word off your tongue but end it sweetly with a smile and I’ll die in contentment for awhile. Oh its not right I blame this on you, its not right the way you show you blame us with your inconsistent attention. Package yourself and not your derision, sell us disks we can replay on our computers our music players our instrument of choice, we will play games with you and know joy we will walk with you playing in our ears and know bright days, we will spoon feed ourselves you and not know hunger we will touch ourselves with you and place you inside us and know true fulfillment. We will cry with you and laugh and dream and sigh, cover our wounds with you, mask our frail and freakish insides with you, sing with you, walk and talk with you, smoke you as comforting as opium pillows, cuddle with you, throw away our piggy banks cuz who needs change? Throw away our addictions cuz who needs anything at all when as one with your glory?
*****this is about hero worship and such, and yeah I had some one in mind, but I think its way out of proportion here, and I really enjoyed taking the thought that far… imagine being so extreme in everything… only a couple people know who its about and i hope they keep it a secret***
The poem I wrote on Gabs streetside curb (2005)
self made majesty
mystirical
mystery
clearly accommodates
compliments
consolidates
the already fortunate
fictionally fantastic
others left in seeming solitude
desolate drastic
factually we got it wrong
errors in our ways
we psychosomatically
treat the rich like
they got it made
while they barricade up
their lawns,
lock and key,
fortify
while those without
live truly free
society
denies
purpose of a safety net
hold us back or keep us up?
Hit the ground
hit it hard
roll over shake it off
find it comforting
there is that base
the free fall breeds anxiety
on the ground a man is free
adorn and bow
his majesty
****the rich aint free, those who choose to be poor are...i have had this idealistic belief for a long time, and it bothers some people... but look at the gated mansions... look at the vulnerable but free who roam the steeets, which is living?****
mystirical
mystery
clearly accommodates
compliments
consolidates
the already fortunate
fictionally fantastic
others left in seeming solitude
desolate drastic
factually we got it wrong
errors in our ways
we psychosomatically
treat the rich like
they got it made
while they barricade up
their lawns,
lock and key,
fortify
while those without
live truly free
society
denies
purpose of a safety net
hold us back or keep us up?
Hit the ground
hit it hard
roll over shake it off
find it comforting
there is that base
the free fall breeds anxiety
on the ground a man is free
adorn and bow
his majesty
****the rich aint free, those who choose to be poor are...i have had this idealistic belief for a long time, and it bothers some people... but look at the gated mansions... look at the vulnerable but free who roam the steeets, which is living?****
Emergent (2005 end of summer)
we’re finding faults in our partitions, sometimes they inhibit our flow
but a better process is a solution unknown
and we go
forward in our bliss
piss faced and belligerent
finding that where we left off has moved on
as in motion
and the notion that relationships flow with out our approval is curious
but renewal seems a strange step back when we have gone this far,
Strange devotion it is that sets us at distance
and makes us mildly irritable when in the courts of first instance
we ask to make an appeal
not really understanding our rights
the decision
the mission of the dreary world mildly mystifying us and wrapped around our thighs and corduroys...
makes its way up and finds just one being
Mixed reactions to the manifestations
the thought process molding the slightest divided intricacy into a world of fantasy
conurbation in the streets according to the new mandates
merging of the sectarian
emersion of the self into the self
***this is somewhat bullshit and somewhat beautiful idealism but its supposed to be about how we tend to think that we are all separate, we feel divided, but in actuality we are all one, and that when we realize that we are taken a back in some ways, but equally we do this in ourselves, we divide ourselves in to pieces and assume that those pieces are real, but later realize that they are one, and I don’t mean like parts affecting each other, but one…. But also I just let it flow so maybe it says nothing****
but a better process is a solution unknown
and we go
forward in our bliss
piss faced and belligerent
finding that where we left off has moved on
as in motion
and the notion that relationships flow with out our approval is curious
but renewal seems a strange step back when we have gone this far,
Strange devotion it is that sets us at distance
and makes us mildly irritable when in the courts of first instance
we ask to make an appeal
not really understanding our rights
the decision
the mission of the dreary world mildly mystifying us and wrapped around our thighs and corduroys...
makes its way up and finds just one being
Mixed reactions to the manifestations
the thought process molding the slightest divided intricacy into a world of fantasy
conurbation in the streets according to the new mandates
merging of the sectarian
emersion of the self into the self
***this is somewhat bullshit and somewhat beautiful idealism but its supposed to be about how we tend to think that we are all separate, we feel divided, but in actuality we are all one, and that when we realize that we are taken a back in some ways, but equally we do this in ourselves, we divide ourselves in to pieces and assume that those pieces are real, but later realize that they are one, and I don’t mean like parts affecting each other, but one…. But also I just let it flow so maybe it says nothing****
complacency (2003?)
Pressed into tragedy
exacting ransoms in their entirety
throw off shackles why? I'm weary
lost in my idol
call it complacency
Pressed and pressed and pressed again, papers suppressed and thoughts revoked, breathes and coughs and coughs and chokes, the air was hot I don't remember when.
Find your pen and write it down three parts to depart with ink and blood fill it's void, it's fantasy slip back to complacency
Slide she said in undone tone, find your thoughts and dreams to roam slide in fact and slide again slide in dreams where feathers bend, slide your days until the phone, wake to dream you were alone. Slightly off and slightly free slightly less of you and me, slightly gone, still eyes are free, rest me there complacency.
The needle in the needle out, freak and fold, hung up on poles. Sun in warmth with strides to high, crying, our unearthed foundation. Famine feasts and finds us fasting nearing on the everlasting, verge of heaven, maybe insanity shedding our complacency.
Lay me down, while splatters and trickles, reach the sides the forth drawn sickle lay me down in beds of clay, mold me, sculpt but find a way to reach through walls millennia old draw me back into the fold lay to find in trance and beat, cast off complacency to be complete.
****the search for connection in life, the search to cast off the things keeping us in place…
the methods mentioned… fighting censorship (self or other), going crazy/giving up on this life, living in fantasy in dreams, in your head, (the needle thing is not actually about drugs its about spiritual rites) as is the fasting, dance, music, ritual, ancient stuff, giving up, giving in, cutting out, crying out****
A State of Being (fall 2005)
Some small unused portion and we place upon it such significance as if our dire fated consequences were of some real consequence as if to say “hey look away” and gaily we’d see yesterday, fluttering upon the trembling ocean waves and wonder,
why we allowed the sway struggling against the casual rasp, the wind that day did trump our strength,
and fall and filter out our normal troubles, trembling in soaked blue jeans and craving some sustenance shaking off our hazy gaze we sat admiring our truculence
****I was thinking about the hurricane in the gulf, my current problems, the need to be steadfast, the anger, the exhaustion of trying to keep up strength, the way it seemed like everything and nothing mattered at the same time****
why we allowed the sway struggling against the casual rasp, the wind that day did trump our strength,
and fall and filter out our normal troubles, trembling in soaked blue jeans and craving some sustenance shaking off our hazy gaze we sat admiring our truculence
****I was thinking about the hurricane in the gulf, my current problems, the need to be steadfast, the anger, the exhaustion of trying to keep up strength, the way it seemed like everything and nothing mattered at the same time****
Addiction (heroin) (spring 2005?)
Business shirts sleeves rolled back
gestures normally not so revealing
our gaze falling centered on....
those old hippopotamus arms...
Those old hypo-potomus fillings
those old hypodermic seasons
from old hypodermic needles
treason that triggers
the triggers that treason
treason that triggers
the scraping off of memories
new daggers cutting throat as the void is filled with desire
unconscious reaching for that smoke
longing isn’t the word for contemplation of a reason
security, vision, clarity
“it’s me” he says Pleading for understanding and we try to understand why?
Why?
Why
revision isn’t an option
selling soul for new derision every time
to come adjacent to the higher calling
sampling the atmosphere
fear is not the case
stop signs don’t project the limits
when god is in your face
in your face with smiles that hang about
sincere for every moment
a friend at every moment
a purpose of every moment
just a moment
before your ripped and torn from unity
from chasing feelings kept inside
follow lack impunity
screaming sometimes
prison sometimes
new jobs to fill the time
the void,
the boredom of not having a mission
uninspired
the depression of not having a vision
no hope
the anxiety of not knowing your welcome
its just fear
the instance of knowing your not!
your not.....
too much to take
he didnt sign up for that
a few months to kill till he can function
a few months to tread till he can stand
a few months to feel this compunction
a few months till serenity reaches out for his hand
****this is really about Chris, the second or third poem I have written about him, I guess in so many ways watching him struggle with life and with addiction hit me really hard, its why I get so scared when I’m with him, Its why I rarely call though I wonder constantly how he is doing…. Anyway I was thinking about our last lunch conversation, I was thinking about how I wanted to keep that relationship, wanted to have those lunch dates those movies those video games. Not the taking him out to the parties, not the visiting him in treatment, but the real conversations. Im not sure that chris has ever shot up, I don’t know his method of in take, but I thought about how hard it is for him to stay focused on staying healthy, as every little thing is a sign that hes an addict.*****
gestures normally not so revealing
our gaze falling centered on....
those old hippopotamus arms...
Those old hypo-potomus fillings
those old hypodermic seasons
from old hypodermic needles
treason that triggers
the triggers that treason
treason that triggers
the scraping off of memories
new daggers cutting throat as the void is filled with desire
unconscious reaching for that smoke
longing isn’t the word for contemplation of a reason
security, vision, clarity
“it’s me” he says Pleading for understanding and we try to understand why?
Why?
Why
revision isn’t an option
selling soul for new derision every time
to come adjacent to the higher calling
sampling the atmosphere
fear is not the case
stop signs don’t project the limits
when god is in your face
in your face with smiles that hang about
sincere for every moment
a friend at every moment
a purpose of every moment
just a moment
before your ripped and torn from unity
from chasing feelings kept inside
follow lack impunity
screaming sometimes
prison sometimes
new jobs to fill the time
the void,
the boredom of not having a mission
uninspired
the depression of not having a vision
no hope
the anxiety of not knowing your welcome
its just fear
the instance of knowing your not!
your not.....
too much to take
he didnt sign up for that
a few months to kill till he can function
a few months to tread till he can stand
a few months to feel this compunction
a few months till serenity reaches out for his hand
****this is really about Chris, the second or third poem I have written about him, I guess in so many ways watching him struggle with life and with addiction hit me really hard, its why I get so scared when I’m with him, Its why I rarely call though I wonder constantly how he is doing…. Anyway I was thinking about our last lunch conversation, I was thinking about how I wanted to keep that relationship, wanted to have those lunch dates those movies those video games. Not the taking him out to the parties, not the visiting him in treatment, but the real conversations. Im not sure that chris has ever shot up, I don’t know his method of in take, but I thought about how hard it is for him to stay focused on staying healthy, as every little thing is a sign that hes an addict.*****
By the end of this mumbling rant I will have proved my point (driving along the inner-state of the planet) (summer 2005)
Driving along 94,
several cars more
than im use to dealing with
trying to relate to it, that bird
flying over the collected masses of rock, metal oil
mass produced and in motion
become that bird like Siddhartha
Realize
We ought to be living our lives introspecting
collecting -data to inherit in the next life
the net life and collective of us all
share and repair, old wounds under new moons
instead we move ahead of ourselves
building what we hope for a better tomorrow
having not accepted the wisdom of our former lives
I yawn and sigh..... im getting older and the day is colder than yesterday but sunny!
I stroke my half ass beard returning to the moment and BRAKE,
and collect my fear and bundle it up tight like winter mornings before the bus arrives.
Try to interpret the billboards, fancy store lighting and why im drawn in
smell of the air is thick with old factories burning and spewing sewage into our already polluted shit.
That river starts with a clear trickle I seen it...
I wonder about those bush stickers, bumpers just asking to be bumped,
high structured signs displaying gas prices meant to be pumped
lumping all the words that rhyme into one jumble and find ourselves stumped
about what to do and whom with
“they” make their choices leave “us” to deal with the consequences
fly solo
little bird
you have lost your permission to fly in groups
shotguns and rifles our legacy
you the menace
we want our fields with no FLOCKS
our hair with no locks and poor with NO SOCKS
to better make the references to Jesus as a poor man, gathering
gather me up o lord and shelter my eyes as you know I have kept them open too long and Im blinded with SELF PITY as I look upon MY CITY and see all those I NEED to be kept IN NEED,
so I can remain with the ability to sing my song.
Too long... Lord too long... And we di-sect you then tri 4,5,6,7,8,9 sect you for I set you upon an alter and the rest set you upon your knees,
or the other way around if you please
just know that I am the wise one who follows....
Hollow images, I digress much from the point
and hopefully soon there is a point
cuz if we remain this stubborn way, we will soon have to press play
to see green grass and blue skies and animals with cute furry tails and shit.... ha oh snap in your face!!!! Consider it proven
**** the thoughts while driving, the thoughts of trying to make the world better, the hypocrisy and hope of spirituality, the failing connection with the earth... this poem was written to be performed with hand gestures and singing, and praying, i did sort of a half assed version at an open mic a few months ago.****
several cars more
than im use to dealing with
trying to relate to it, that bird
flying over the collected masses of rock, metal oil
mass produced and in motion
become that bird like Siddhartha
Realize
We ought to be living our lives introspecting
collecting -data to inherit in the next life
the net life and collective of us all
share and repair, old wounds under new moons
instead we move ahead of ourselves
building what we hope for a better tomorrow
having not accepted the wisdom of our former lives
I yawn and sigh..... im getting older and the day is colder than yesterday but sunny!
I stroke my half ass beard returning to the moment and BRAKE,
and collect my fear and bundle it up tight like winter mornings before the bus arrives.
Try to interpret the billboards, fancy store lighting and why im drawn in
smell of the air is thick with old factories burning and spewing sewage into our already polluted shit.
That river starts with a clear trickle I seen it...
I wonder about those bush stickers, bumpers just asking to be bumped,
high structured signs displaying gas prices meant to be pumped
lumping all the words that rhyme into one jumble and find ourselves stumped
about what to do and whom with
“they” make their choices leave “us” to deal with the consequences
fly solo
little bird
you have lost your permission to fly in groups
shotguns and rifles our legacy
you the menace
we want our fields with no FLOCKS
our hair with no locks and poor with NO SOCKS
to better make the references to Jesus as a poor man, gathering
gather me up o lord and shelter my eyes as you know I have kept them open too long and Im blinded with SELF PITY as I look upon MY CITY and see all those I NEED to be kept IN NEED,
so I can remain with the ability to sing my song.
Too long... Lord too long... And we di-sect you then tri 4,5,6,7,8,9 sect you for I set you upon an alter and the rest set you upon your knees,
or the other way around if you please
just know that I am the wise one who follows....
Hollow images, I digress much from the point
and hopefully soon there is a point
cuz if we remain this stubborn way, we will soon have to press play
to see green grass and blue skies and animals with cute furry tails and shit.... ha oh snap in your face!!!! Consider it proven
**** the thoughts while driving, the thoughts of trying to make the world better, the hypocrisy and hope of spirituality, the failing connection with the earth... this poem was written to be performed with hand gestures and singing, and praying, i did sort of a half assed version at an open mic a few months ago.****
untitled (fall 2005)
Chain smoking worries
a flutter a flight
caught up in the secrets of today
the shadows passing in the night
bow and ribbon packaging
newspaper, cheap the wrap
flustered, boxing our hearts away
how quick we turn to shield and strap
and with this panic conscious preparation
guilt, forgiveness, queasy, trite
overcoming love we hope not hatred
trapped by shadows we failed to sight
*****for anyone who knows me I assume this is fairly self explanatory, the worries that lead to frustration that lead to defensiveness that lead to aggressiveness and the whole time all you wanted was to love the person*****
a flutter a flight
caught up in the secrets of today
the shadows passing in the night
bow and ribbon packaging
newspaper, cheap the wrap
flustered, boxing our hearts away
how quick we turn to shield and strap
and with this panic conscious preparation
guilt, forgiveness, queasy, trite
overcoming love we hope not hatred
trapped by shadows we failed to sight
*****for anyone who knows me I assume this is fairly self explanatory, the worries that lead to frustration that lead to defensiveness that lead to aggressiveness and the whole time all you wanted was to love the person*****
Beauty of Sacrifice (fall 2005)
She denies the personal trials
walks the miles
sings and smiles
she even builds obstacles to help her keep that style
thats how she nourishes it
she keeps her distance
and flourishes in it
concerned more with others
she ignores her own heart
and in that I see beauty
and think it’s a hell of a start
She shrugs off statements
profound and vile
chokes back tears
like shes held em for a wile
like shes in denial
like she prefers it
abstains from distilling poison
instead she stirs it
concerned more with presentation than with the actual content
but in that I see beauty and think its heaven sent
**** I was trying to figure out why that line between humbleness and true hatred of oneself is so hard to walk, and so beautiful in so many people, worrying that it was that line I encouraged of my loved ones. I wrote this thinking about how i could never fully hate the self destructive because it brings about so much understanding and wamrth in people.. this poem was never finished... i was afraid, so i called it bullshit****
walks the miles
sings and smiles
she even builds obstacles to help her keep that style
thats how she nourishes it
she keeps her distance
and flourishes in it
concerned more with others
she ignores her own heart
and in that I see beauty
and think it’s a hell of a start
She shrugs off statements
profound and vile
chokes back tears
like shes held em for a wile
like shes in denial
like she prefers it
abstains from distilling poison
instead she stirs it
concerned more with presentation than with the actual content
but in that I see beauty and think its heaven sent
**** I was trying to figure out why that line between humbleness and true hatred of oneself is so hard to walk, and so beautiful in so many people, worrying that it was that line I encouraged of my loved ones. I wrote this thinking about how i could never fully hate the self destructive because it brings about so much understanding and wamrth in people.. this poem was never finished... i was afraid, so i called it bullshit****
new acceptance (jan 2003)
"New Acceptance
****wrote this after a fight with my brother in Barcelona, I think in a way I was accepting a lot of the doubts and fears that I have of myself, my fears that I hurt people without trying once again confirmed, and yet what could I do? Lord knows I try in my way, but what else is there to do except accept it..
I walked through the dark streets and absorbed them. Fear and pain, frustration and hurt are with me always, always the worry always… but in accepting, the ability to work with it. So I remember starting this poem realizing the beauty of the situation, the beauty of this demon, who with wild and colorful being hurts and hurts, I’d been running for so long from these fears… but once accepted once the claws are in, might as well work with it. Make it beautiful****
Oh how shadily you came to me, wild and impatient, eyes full of wonderment, styles in black and green and brown. And your hair was sort of red colored, like that bella street performer, the child who danced and danced and danced her days and wrinkles away. Her pigment sort of orange and green, probably too obscene for the old rich folks who's eyes did gleam and side with frustration. But you who came in feral disguise, do hide your claws, in these ribbed sides, tears I cried and stretched away to find conformity, and our calculations were only slightly off that day. So I walked on in unfamiliar streets backed by dealers, their sneaky impressions left in shadows. I could not be bothered with raging winds or sad songs sung after these dying days. I could but feel you on my shoulders and naught else then.
With hours passed I found your presence fully submerged and my being in nervousness, gradually lifted guards and found u easily consumed. So now I promote thee, shelter thee in sadness, and yet with gladness sing thy song. Who could know in childhood screaming all your being can be so gently bound,
I could say I’m not afraid, but that is lies. "
****wrote this after a fight with my brother in Barcelona, I think in a way I was accepting a lot of the doubts and fears that I have of myself, my fears that I hurt people without trying once again confirmed, and yet what could I do? Lord knows I try in my way, but what else is there to do except accept it..
I walked through the dark streets and absorbed them. Fear and pain, frustration and hurt are with me always, always the worry always… but in accepting, the ability to work with it. So I remember starting this poem realizing the beauty of the situation, the beauty of this demon, who with wild and colorful being hurts and hurts, I’d been running for so long from these fears… but once accepted once the claws are in, might as well work with it. Make it beautiful****
Written in Europa (jan 2006)
Europa (?)
Maybe its the graying days the yellow elephants the tiger stripes, the sunshine raisins, the california raisins, Brigg's raisins, the raise in prices world wide
the globalization the salivation, the personalized privatization
the private moments we share..
maybe its the colorful descriptions
the wall decorations the paintings at which I stare
the closet of wonder
the secrets you ponder
the way you look at me when i'll im really saying is... I care
are secrets mirrored? and televised to be clearer than windows stained golden with tears of the sun?
are portraits self painted, tourists as self hated as purists and chandeliers swing from above?
why is it safer
to run and displace
his feelings while tracing
the path of his first rising star,
shattered and wonderfully embraced from a far,
soothing and moving, flying and gliding
like pigeons in train stations held at arms length
to take pictures mid flapping and drastically trapped and confused
shattering our views
we see in hesitation only the whiteness of doves
and when you race by concerned or elated
I feel as if fated
to turn to my partner
and proclaim my love.
****mix of feelings and thoughts on this trip, Briggs is an author I was reading, its funny because I think there are moments in here where Im specifically talking about one person, but its that person because at the time they were representing everything that was going on.. so despite the “shattered” part being about me and Becky breaking up and me feeling like I was lost, and the part of “wonderfully embraced from a far,” being about Alexis reassuring me, --despite that--- I completely include Becky and many others in that embracing the i think especially my friends at home, and the 3b cats and the india trip people, which is why despite the “partner” thing, that part is about everyone I love, (and im sorry if that hurts, or you think its bullshit) but I was just thinking about how when beautiful things hit me I want to share it with everyone. But in a way that they specifically feel like they can share that beauty. Like I want to specifically share it with them… because its true.
The pigeons here fly right by your head, and its beautiful (a little scary) but you feel sometimes like you have this moment you connect with them, like in a picture just a snapshot of beauty… those pigeons are so much more beautiful than we give them credit for..
As far as the first rising star and the first few lines above it, I was wondering why I ran back to Europe, as if I could learn who I was again… because I had forgotten.
But no this is mostly just about beauty and love, and wanting to share it. (hope no one is disappointed)
Maybe its the graying days the yellow elephants the tiger stripes, the sunshine raisins, the california raisins, Brigg's raisins, the raise in prices world wide
the globalization the salivation, the personalized privatization
the private moments we share..
maybe its the colorful descriptions
the wall decorations the paintings at which I stare
the closet of wonder
the secrets you ponder
the way you look at me when i'll im really saying is... I care
are secrets mirrored? and televised to be clearer than windows stained golden with tears of the sun?
are portraits self painted, tourists as self hated as purists and chandeliers swing from above?
why is it safer
to run and displace
his feelings while tracing
the path of his first rising star,
shattered and wonderfully embraced from a far,
soothing and moving, flying and gliding
like pigeons in train stations held at arms length
to take pictures mid flapping and drastically trapped and confused
shattering our views
we see in hesitation only the whiteness of doves
and when you race by concerned or elated
I feel as if fated
to turn to my partner
and proclaim my love.
****mix of feelings and thoughts on this trip, Briggs is an author I was reading, its funny because I think there are moments in here where Im specifically talking about one person, but its that person because at the time they were representing everything that was going on.. so despite the “shattered” part being about me and Becky breaking up and me feeling like I was lost, and the part of “wonderfully embraced from a far,” being about Alexis reassuring me, --despite that--- I completely include Becky and many others in that embracing the i think especially my friends at home, and the 3b cats and the india trip people, which is why despite the “partner” thing, that part is about everyone I love, (and im sorry if that hurts, or you think its bullshit) but I was just thinking about how when beautiful things hit me I want to share it with everyone. But in a way that they specifically feel like they can share that beauty. Like I want to specifically share it with them… because its true.
The pigeons here fly right by your head, and its beautiful (a little scary) but you feel sometimes like you have this moment you connect with them, like in a picture just a snapshot of beauty… those pigeons are so much more beautiful than we give them credit for..
As far as the first rising star and the first few lines above it, I was wondering why I ran back to Europe, as if I could learn who I was again… because I had forgotten.
But no this is mostly just about beauty and love, and wanting to share it. (hope no one is disappointed)
untitled (april 2006)
To wake up startled
unaware
the moving scenery on either side
the foreign faces
facing you
the slowing of the rail car...
the way the rocks look
that mountain amongst mountains
the waking sun on those cool grasses
the way the trees grow
the speed of the Sava River as it crooks
to wake up startled
and know you are home.
****inspired by a fellow train passenger****
unaware
the moving scenery on either side
the foreign faces
facing you
the slowing of the rail car...
the way the rocks look
that mountain amongst mountains
the waking sun on those cool grasses
the way the trees grow
the speed of the Sava River as it crooks
to wake up startled
and know you are home.
****inspired by a fellow train passenger****
Spectre (april 2006)
The one who stood silently
with blank but concerned stare
on that corner where you crossed
and walked on
but her eyes and concern went with you
though she kept standing there
*****this girl looked exactly like the figures that usually appear to me except she didnt disappear immediatly, and she kept staring at me in the rainy night, as if she wanted something, as if she needed me for something, and i was scared so i kept walking, after a block and a half she wasnt there anymore... maybe she just walked off... but it got to me*****
with blank but concerned stare
on that corner where you crossed
and walked on
but her eyes and concern went with you
though she kept standing there
*****this girl looked exactly like the figures that usually appear to me except she didnt disappear immediatly, and she kept staring at me in the rainy night, as if she wanted something, as if she needed me for something, and i was scared so i kept walking, after a block and a half she wasnt there anymore... maybe she just walked off... but it got to me*****
Thursday, April 06, 2006
MetelKova (april 2006)
I dont mean to be in your face
but you promised us this s[ace
so we shall stand with arms linked
for two years without lights or sink
For Metelkova
Truly before us came Christiana
but we are the heart of Ljubljana
paint and sing to know you´re free
living growing our precious tree
of Metelkova
so when you find yourself a drift
go to the barracks with the colorful facelift
have a coffee smoke a joint
and speak your mind cuz thats the point
of Metelkova
******This is the area of Ljubljana Im staying in, its a city within a city promised to the people of Slovenia for artist expression. This whole poem which I wrote like 10 minutes ago is based on a conversation and the actual words of the people who squatted here to get the land. The area is a beautiful collective of street art, graffiti, galleries and 10 music clubs in an area smaller than a city block. It used to be the former military Barracks. Christiana (sp?) is an area in kopenhagen devoted to roughly the same thing, but is supposedly a little more sketchy and drug inhabited, anyway thought i would start with a new one******
but you promised us this s[ace
so we shall stand with arms linked
for two years without lights or sink
For Metelkova
Truly before us came Christiana
but we are the heart of Ljubljana
paint and sing to know you´re free
living growing our precious tree
of Metelkova
so when you find yourself a drift
go to the barracks with the colorful facelift
have a coffee smoke a joint
and speak your mind cuz thats the point
of Metelkova
******This is the area of Ljubljana Im staying in, its a city within a city promised to the people of Slovenia for artist expression. This whole poem which I wrote like 10 minutes ago is based on a conversation and the actual words of the people who squatted here to get the land. The area is a beautiful collective of street art, graffiti, galleries and 10 music clubs in an area smaller than a city block. It used to be the former military Barracks. Christiana (sp?) is an area in kopenhagen devoted to roughly the same thing, but is supposedly a little more sketchy and drug inhabited, anyway thought i would start with a new one******
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Starting time
This is a site for poems and prose that I try to write on purpose, rather than me just babbling. Also since no one understands my writings, I will probably tell you what they are about, so as to cheat.
this is the last of the crappy posts. When I have access with my comp I will start posting actual things, in whatever order I feel like. SO suck it.
this is the last of the crappy posts. When I have access with my comp I will start posting actual things, in whatever order I feel like. SO suck it.
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