958 south
7/22/2010 at 12:36 AM
Wind across the Niobe swamp
Skin bunching up under the chin
Of the fat screaming face of my modern
Appetites, tall grass...
I said I will never forget the purple flowers
And then sent the tenderbreasted child ahead
On the road carrying an offering of the violets and cattails
To redmouthed gods
Still undiscovered in the bog.
The ultimate accessibility and commodity worshipped in our
Insectoid boxhomes dwarfed and mute
Stunned. I become the vulture watching
For scraps, they call it
Cleaning up
8 north
7/21/2010 at 3:45 AM
I
Groves of hemlock line the road
our headlights glance off needled branches
Reflecting a strange skeleton of light back onto us,
Mist gathering, I see the road, night time trance
Of zipping trees and the paved gray serpent laying amidst them
Sleepless hunger nettles in the skin, stomach turned up
the trucks are all stopped silently like a fleet of giant
Chrome grasshoppers all asleep
I wondered which truth would serve me best, yes
I am alive, yes
I have died. Both seemingly
Equally appropriate to the
Wind in my face and sense of great speed, I have always loved cinema.
Drugged by my passivity, the smell of the theatre and simplicity of effort.
The road seemed so totally its opposite at first,
but at night in the deep pine
they were much the same, watching the bubble of light around me
Became so disassociating that I was debating
Believing myself dead. I said a prayer
To the wind and She gave me new sight.
New speech.
II
Screaming j I hear you, crying love to the gypsy
Speed queen from a traincar "I will always wander"
And I'm with you in Florida
While the swamp dies
with yer past.
chlorine poisoning
7/20/2010 at 3:23 PM
Dressing heavy for the season
Missed connections are posted everyday
Everybody wants to believe
They'll be remembered
"I won't forget you"
too many layers in the sun
I've got organizations and armies
Alive in my head
scheming and watching
From the soft fleshy orbs of eyes
voyeuristically trapped in observations
Of others, myself,
"I wont forget you"
But will I be remembered!?
Bleached out hair stuck to my face
chlorine in my lungs
Walking around with an invisible gun
Worrying about who knows my name
I think maybe you missed me, after a few days
Of thinking it through
Being over eager to approve myself
For yr consumption
My pride is a house of cards -
the kitchen table is too unsteady to support this thing
The nine of clubs quivers dangerously,
We built this thing together
On a Wednesday when it rained
It was our fifth attempt
That stood steady, I almost felt an aura
Around the table warning me
That it couldn't last and I think maybe
you missed me, What I meant when I said it
"Everything's gotta end sometime"
It was the two, also of clubs, that finally brought it down.
Thus the real change, the real evolution,
yr lips are exactly as soft And exactly as full
As I had intended, succubi dreaming my dream,
To you I commend the scent of these oils
And the taste of this fruit, let my blood
Be token for the cold of yr touch,
And always remember me
After I've gone.
i finally found a rhythm for poems in my thumbs.
7/19/2010 at 10:29 PM
The message is writ get back in the pit and please yrself drunk from yr senses and distantly aware there's a new kind of kindling to throw on the fire get back in the pit life's a constant war and thems the breaks go break something and make it a mirror the great reflective one way highway leading down to death and confusion promising to guide you then only obsessing you further with the infantile question is this mine?
i've been up for hours staring at my hands
3/4/2009 at 11:10 PM
i just posted the raw copy of my next journal-type pome, (and the birds in the morning)
it's the entire notebook inked and unedited, transcribed and whatnot.
it's EXTREMELY long, but if you have like a half-hour to kill,
i'd really appreciate any feedback on how to restructure it
or just general feedback. right on.
it felt like spring all day today, and the snow steamed off in the rain just like it did that other day i've almost forgotten now
2/12/2009 at 4:06 AM
i literally hear a song on the wind.
tonight is an unusually windy and rainy night
we've had excellent spring-like weather all week and this
is the wind that will
bring back the cold and snowy pennsylvania winter
i am so used to,
my window is cracked because the sound of it across otherwise silent forests
is very soothing to me, and i hear a song,
a slow-type chant with a guitar and key track,
i'm about to write a poem in which this song
becomes a pataphor for the sound of the wind,
but i just wanted to let you guys know that it is based
not actually on a metaphor, but a literal occurance
blown way out of proportion. also, pataphors are really cool
you should consider making one, frees up metaphor very nicely
(wikipedia is your friend)
when the television tells you to have a vision
2/9/2009 at 3:44 AM
i fucking hate this time of year
and deeply resent having been born a pisces,
on the up-side i found out how to eliminate those annoyingly pornographic "american apparel" banner ads
that show up at the top of this site, with a firefox addon you can find it on the website (www.mozilla.com)
it's called ad-buster plus. get on it! free yourself from the suggestion of warped sexuality that is los angeles fashionability!
(the wires begin to glow and spark, the pyramid hums all around me,
somebody drops a lot of coins on concrete;
kids from the 80's all flash and nihilism in the movies,
the affects are often permanent. stitching together the body and the soul)
i need a damn camera,
and a cemetery to explore,
i'm not sure what to do about friday the thirteenth,
and it's really not very convenient that the day after
is valentine's day - by far the lamest most manufactured holiday...
i mean, what kind of person would capitalize on
other people's romantic insecurities; convincing them
to buy pointless, love-themed crap in order to impress
a spring fling or avoid the ire of an established lover?
i guess i have no real reason to complain, it just
sort of miffs me that so many people get so into it.
(she's short and curvy, well "done-up" and at the bar
with her girls, says "two guys i used to hang out with"
and my guard says "you mean two guys you slept with"
and she says "same thing" and i'm looking around
with murder in my heart wondering why i walked this whole way
just to disappoint myself.)
another spirit that seems to be inhabiting our third floor
1/30/2009 at 9:12 PM
it dawns on me that i haven't actually used the blog feature here
as a way of updating people about my real life
in about a year, not since
i started traveling
a "reader's digest" summary of my travels:
arizona was very cool, the desert was beautiful, and getting there
made me realize just how big america is, kansas city was very very weird,
i mostly just remember that people were exceedingly friendly
but were also completely uninteresting. california kicks yr ass
all over the place, and the pacific ocean taught me how to write poetry again.
chicago was a blast, beautiful jailbait girl sitting on a wall outside the 4-star spot,
but the pitchfork festival disillusioned me about hipsters considerably.
west virginia has a completely unique vibe and i recommend exploration of it
if you're into the whole mountainish forestish ruralish redneckish getting lost type thing
most recently i went to san francisco, part of california i didn't get to see last time,
and that was really rewarding. i spent most of the time in frisco rehearsing in an
artist compound at hunter's point right on the bay with my band
silent film soundtrack, went to the largest party imaginable for new years (1500 people)
and then recorded an ep. so. that was cool.
outside of that my entire life is convoluted, romance has me flustered, money's still money
which is annoying, and difficult to manage, although i'm doing that thing crazy
people in the great depression did and finding wacky places to stash cash
cause banks are bullshit (meaning i have no credit score, meaning my credit completely sucks)
my family is mysteriously supportive of my gypsy lifestyle all of a sudden,
including members of my family that i'd actually prefer to still be at odds with,
i'm living in bloomfield where i hang out mostly with musicians, and expend my energy
mostly just getting kicks, which has been the standard for most of my briefly adult life.
anyway, i wouldn't expect many updates on the blog if i were you, it's been incredibly difficult to resist
the impulse to break out the nigh-fictional stream of images my life usually organizes into
when i try to type it up or write it down, and i can't make any guarantees
good luck space cadet, i'll catch you on the flip
