The Situation is Beyond Morality

2009-04-27T19:35:00.001-07:00

Can you see me?

Sound

2009-03-02T13:45:00.001-08:00

If now I'm dreaming
Standing still in time
Draped in a revolutionary coat
Static-cloved wishes
Swirling perfect squares
Around me like fireflies
Another hole in the coffee cards
Finding the incessant reminders
Deafening
Running
Cold dead wedding invites
Shifting
Violent beautiful
I'm drowning in a sea
Of rafts
Pushing
Behind me is the fire
Ahead of me is the clock
With hateful logic
Blossoming
Into perfect ornamental screams
I am a man/
Standing on the greenest of night
With a tree to my left
The north star falling
Burning
This vision of myself
Saving the world with a flower
While I am burning

Witness me
Witness me
Witness me
Burning

Xibalba

2009-02-23T10:00:00.000-08:00

Remember me, if you will,
Like an open window on an August drive west,
Or the inveterate boy stamping his feet,
Never wanting the afternoon nap.
Maybe as the 9 pm arrival to the 7 pm party,
As the empty gaze from the back of the room,
Or the arms on your shoulders under July fire,
With all of the intensity of the blue sky flowers above.
Carpet-faced, bored, trapped in front of screens,
Wild-eyed knave so pleased to meet you,
As the smell of the shirt as you draw it down,
Like your favorite looking book you never read.
The last cigarette lighter tucked in your pocket,
The invisible friend that only you believe in,
The pile of papers that never get filed,
The prayer you say out loud but don't mean.
The hanging map,
The night stand,
The second album,
The worst,
The best,
The so-so, but not that great.
Poet
Architect
Philosopher
Artist
King
Prince
Pauper
Strong
Scared
Scarred,
Full of hope
Full of shit
The jester
The judge
The beginning
The end.

Remember me, as you will,
With all of the brightness of your dreams.

Consumption

2009-02-19T22:18:00.000-08:00

What fleeting solace we have
With our arms draped peacefully
Across the never-was.

With half-drawn solitude
Peering paranoid black
Above the world outside.

There is a heart
Inside this tomb
There is a love
Inside this heart.

Whatever you want me to be.

2009-02-07T13:57:00.000-08:00

Rage against this life
Hate for what its done.
Rage against this world
Love across a knife

Give me one more goddamn day
To be alone with you.
Give me one more passing hour
To say what I can say.

The last apostle writes
Poems on softened wood.
The first prophet lies
Poems on hardened minds.

Borderline

2009-01-24T20:50:00.000-08:00

I'm right here
Awake and alive
Next to the tree
Eternally stunted
So if you ever wonder
Where I could be
I'm right here
Awake and alive
Always the same
Immature fuck.

Lying Sideways, Half Asleep, Typing

2009-01-20T02:07:00.000-08:00

Ithnk that itsa sin thef eereckles in or eyes are rpefrctly aligned and godhimself did makeusinto coresponding piecesait may seemlike stretchtroubledhead when your away mwne i am missing yout od odeath when your out therer ont eh road.everthnig looks perfedctfrom far way dcome down now thats frankly will not fly you will her thes hfirllest highas ansd lowest lows theyw illseus waving from suchg reat heights comedown ow theyll says say

Dusk

2009-01-09T01:47:00.000-08:00

There is a time, sudden and quick
Just before the sun falls asleep
And the moon breathes its first breath
When the world stops and wonders
What happens to us next.

There's a traveler that I know
Who carries a yellow soft lantern
That guides him over sun-burnt hills
And through the shadowed forest,
He knows each of us by name.

A blanket warms a newborn
A sheet covers a tired body
And the world takes no notice
Until the moment the sun falls asleep
And the moon breathes its first breath.

Heater Bees Hurt

2008-12-12T21:23:00.000-08:00

This grave December wind
Insults me like school-aged
Children calling me different names
For being overweight.

I remember once upon a time
When snow-filled pre-Christmas
Nights never worried me much
As I returned home to the warm.

"We all carry around this hurt"
My father used to say
Or maybe he didn't,
I just wanted a father who would.

There's not much in this life
To complain about as long as
You are alive, and able
To grow a little more.

But its just this sting
At the back of my throat
Like an ornery bee sticking hard
Every time I say your name.

Archive I

2008-12-10T11:31:00.000-08:00

I have been reviewing lately some of the poetry that went unpublished during the more difficult times of my life. I am not at all proud of the quality of these poems (I think they could very well be journal entries - the only thing that makes some of them poems is that the sentences are all on different lines), but I figured in the name of courage, of self-expression, I will start releasing some of them.

This poem, entitled, "Glass Painted Silver" was written by me in December of 2006.

Everyday I step out from the shower
Rub the mist off of the mirror
And take a look at myself.

I cannot help but find that something is gone.

I take an inventory:

Two arms.
Two legs.
One head.
One body.

I turn my gaze to the side,
Trying to get a better view.
What has gone away from me?
What has left my side?

I wish that I could say.
That a day goes by.
When I don't disappear
My being turns to mist.

Is it your voice or the wind creeping through the shades?

And now I stand shriveled by the lake
Looking to where the sky meets the water -
The gray overcast sky condemns my weakness.

My scarf blows gently behind me in the wind.
Pointing in the direction of where you are.

My face is cold but heart is warm
With the memory of your touch.

Something so special, so small.
Sometimes I thought I could fit you in my pocket.

And as I count on all fingers and toes
The ways that I could have done things better.

The ways that I could have held onto your love.
The ways that I could have built you a home with my hands.

I realize more and more everyday.

That it was not mine to have.
It was never mine to hold.
That I was a stranger in a strange land

And so I take off my scarf, red now.
And smell it once more.

And I let it flow into the lake.
Wrapping around my hand just once more as it escapes

Before it dances on the wind
Disappearing into the infinite horizon.

And then I scream out louder than ever before;

Goodbye!

Maybe one day I shall see her again.
Maybe one day she shall love me again.

And maybe one day too, the scarf will return
And wrap itself around my neck.

Guest Post

2008-12-09T23:13:00.000-08:00

Hello again everyone and welcome back to my boring old blog format. The sweet layout with the tree in the background and the sleek little white headings took a turn for the awful the other day when the server that was hosting the pictures decided that it needed me to upgrade to Photobucket Pro if I wanted to keep the background. Because I'm not even interested in upgrading to Photobucket Amateur, I declined the offer...So here we are, back to my old website, this time featuring a background that is the color of poop.

Nevertheless, content has always reigned supreme here, and pushing that content edge even further towards perfection, I have once again offered a friend the opportunity for a guest post. All the way from his studies in the United Kingdom, born and bred Stateside in the great city of Seattle, I present a piece of my friend Everett's poetry. He is mildly interested in becoming a regular poster, so please give him feedback if you like it, and perhaps we can see some more good ones from him in the future.

"Picking Daisies" by Everett Durham

The mood of tonight's electric
As I step cleanly on the scene
Preened self to perfection
With streetlights flashing green.

I'm Dirty Harry with a gun
I'm Vlad with blood-fanged bite
I'm advertised as fresh and fun
I am the dog and fight.

My movements are intentional
My anarchy, thousand proof
Anything but conventional
We'll take the corner booth.

Show me all your women
36
C
Five foot
3
Everyone but
me
Is wishing
they're for free

Eloquent deception
Tailor made hooks
Evangelized reception
I know all of the books
Immaculate conception
Sex is made of looks.

Religion

2008-12-07T23:31:00.000-08:00

The phoenix rises, panicked
Completely invested in this moment
With you held close to me
Arms tangled into my body
Like shackles
You're trying to stay with me
But your head tilts back
And your hair hangs in quantum perfection
As you stare at the steel blue halo
Encircling the shadowed room
And wonder what its like
To be any less alive than this
Your voice betrays you
As sounds of your submission
Erupt and before you know it
You have laid yourself before me
And served as witness
To my cosmic dominance
As you stare into the fire
Burning angry from my eyes
You begin to notice angels
Wings emerge from behind me
And you are just so relieved
That I am so powerful
Even though your deepest fear
Is that I was among those
Eternally cast down.

Faster Now

2008-11-24T19:41:00.001-08:00

If by followed you are swept away
And find God's armistice broken
Like dawn through harmless night
Or Lancelot's sword through bronze
Call out to me with your arms stretched
Like a child abducted at a summer's fair
And beg me to save you and your safety
As you tunnel away into the middles
And forget you ever knew me.

Thanatos

2008-11-17T00:06:00.000-08:00

Keys dangled from his hip
Filling up my sight, shrieking bloody murder
But,
Consequently,
Just out of my reach -
So -
Slinking back into my cell
Now eyeing the bread and water
(Poor bread and water)
Upon the blood drizzled floor
My beard is the circles in a tree stump
The valuable pieces of me locked away
Hidden treasures in my heart
Pushing involuntary cries to the surface -
Cries like madmen in asylum -
Keep me grinding my teeth at night
Weighing me down in cells.

Breathe.

Wistful thinking faintly remembers now
The sound of snow crunching beneath
As I followed dutifully my evaporating breath
My only guide

(italics) Pause.

As I purge my extroversion
Imagining that for once I can be happy on this walk
All by myself
Hands wedged deep in pea coat pockets
With shoulders hunched forward
Thoughts trailing behind
Never quite in the moment
Freedom is the apple
The bite is my memory
Rushing toward ecstasy,
New solar systems,
The afterlife.

queue - explosion.

Puzzles.

2008-11-15T14:07:00.000-08:00

I used to stare at her face
The way a toddler looked at words
Or how a mechanic looks at piano keys.
With the least bits of my understanding.

This summer love grows cold and dim
Cruel like wicked stepmothers
As it wastes away to evermore
With the last specks of childhood lost.

Adulthood is an unwanted invader
Into this paradise of youth
And my soldiers poor suited to defend
WIth the last pieces of my armor.

My Life is a Cell

2008-11-10T09:44:00.000-08:00

This wealth of solitude
A burning man on a pyre
Crying out in fury
To be put out of his misery.

The end of another season
Brings no hope for the next
Drifting away like leaves
Buried by January snow.

The great dream remembered
Of a hundred African suns
The orphanage in the rain
The quilt made out of passing.

Brilliant brilliance wasted
On a mind reduced to ashes
With thoughts of tortured victims
And phalaenopsis orchids.

To be a Man

2008-11-04T01:25:00.000-08:00

While all the females wax poetic
On the romanticism and grace,
The glory that is "being a woman,"
All that men have are beer commercials,
Tim Allen Home Improvement Grunts,
And Firebird pistons rioting in summer.

So pardon me while I grab this mic
And brush away the politics,
Political correctness, and pettiness
To let you in on the deep dark secret
Of what it is to be a man
During this unstoppable revolution of She.

A man is the tip of a cigarette
Smoldering in the rain
Simmering with fire down beneath
Burning away in ziggurat circles
While he gives pleasure away in breaths
As he is casually sucked away.

Or maybe he is the hook
On the end of an August fishing line
Waiting patiently at the bottom
For even the slightest pull or nibble
Dangling on a translucent string
Of weighted tensile strength.

Certainly man is the lawn sprinkler
Spitting out life in each direction
Fed from a hose hiding in the grass
And stored away for long winters' rest
Only to be replaced after two short years
By the one with a wider radius.

But really, man is the crease
On the opposite side of the elbow
That wraps around you tight
And waits for you to sleep
To be absolutely sure
That you drift off into dreams -

Completely safe from harm.

Present Progressive

2008-10-15T10:17:00.001-07:00

The ambience is sickening
The plot is thickening
My pulse is quickening
My blood is sickling
The tears are trickling
My moods are fickling
These words are crackling
The doubts are cackling
These fears are tackling
My abilities of thinking
Your love for me is shrinking
My heart is sinking

Coming to Terms with Calvin

2008-10-13T19:06:00.000-07:00

I've always found lakes
More compelling than the ocean
Where thick jagged rocks
Line the long stretch of places
Where beaches should be.

Because I have to believe
That at 3:14 each morning
When I press my hands in the mud
That its not too far in the distance
Where you're doing the same.

With the moon over head
Clouds twisted thin
The night is a force
That I happily submit to
I am a pilgrim in a new world.

I take a step over the edge
So distant from my homeland
And I keep running
Into the place eternal
Where the water meets the sky.

Where more words only hurt more
And less just means I don't care
If there is such a thing as trust
Then trust these words forever -
I know who I am.

The lake is not a lake
But a pool of fire
And I am Satan
Tucked away in the dark
Lording over my lonely kingdom.

I Laugh at Myself Because I Waste Away

2008-10-05T23:14:00.000-07:00

There is a place between apathy and devotion
Where the evening light is eclipsed every night
And revelers gather in droves to celebrate full moons.
Poets write with quills from the shoulders of peacocks
Brilliant poems of bereavement and resurrection
With air full of cinnamon chamomile and carnage
And humans chant from the mountains to impress the wolves.

What?

2008-10-02T00:44:00.000-07:00

Ticking clocks
Fallen prophets
Stolen identities
Broken guitars
Wandering eyes

The water in the street
Doesn't have any fish

The bottom of the bed
Doesn't have any monsters

Phil Collins
Jesse Jackson
Killers Whales
Colonel Sanders
Tom Selleck

Masochist (edited)

2008-09-22T19:53:00.000-07:00

I've seen the sun rise with fury
Over the great midwestern plains
And fall asleep gently
Across the desert quiet of Africa.

I've breathed the salty sea
Nestled comfortably in the gulf
And cleared leaves from my eyes
Passing to waters in Belize.

I've had joy, had pain,
and joy once again.
I've filtered my sadness
Through a million lives lived.

The tide greets my toes
Teasing them, playfully
For once I take the invitation
Beauty eternal.

Let it be known
For all time
For all people
That I just didn't know

How to change

Smoke, Jade, Wistfullness

2008-09-16T05:53:00.000-07:00

Screaming through the blueberry quiet
This night is filled on all sides
With Beverly Hills glamour
And Las Vegas destiny.

The morning is a distant cousin
This night is New York on New Years
A fire-breathing dragon
A lion with a saddle.

Smash Poetry

2008-08-31T19:03:00.000-07:00

Here comes another embarassing session of asking my readers to make a contribution in the comments section and risking the possibility of getting zero responses. But...I have another assignment for you. It's a new thing I am trying, inspired by the Pollack method of painting. I have been writing a few of my own recently, and will post one in the comments section. I call it "smash poetry." Here is how you do it - first pick out a song for yourself. I prefer one with high energy and very little meaning behind it - a la anything by MGMT. Then take a moment to listen to the song and clear your mind for a bit, maybe a minute or so. Then, when you are ready, suck a big breath in, blast your eyes open and just start typing along with the rhythm of the song in your head. Get out as much as you can before you let your breath go. Stop typing whenever you let your breath go, no matter how far along you are. You have just written a smash poem.

After you write your poem, under it put the name of the song you used as well (if you are brave enough to admit to it).

Commence!

Sunday Afternoon

2008-08-20T01:08:00.000-07:00

The controller sits idly on the living room floor
And seems oblivious, obstinate to my telekinesis
I stretch out my arm as far as it will go
As my fingers quiver from the tension in my forearm
I'm two full inches short and there is nothing in sight,
Nothing to grab it or slide it towards me with.

I take a deep breath and shake my head
Wondering how the damn thing got so far.
I scoot down on the couch just a bit more
And justify to myself why I should watch GAC.
Minutes later I peek back at the remote to see
If any seismic shifts may have moved it closer.

Nuthin'. God dammit.

2008-08-18T00:34:00.001-07:00

Save me...

...before I save you.

Quote

2008-08-18T00:32:00.000-07:00

"A man goes to the doctor. Says he's depressed. He says life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. The doctor says "The treatment is simple. The great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him, that should pick you up." The man bursts into tears. He says "But doctor... I am Pagliacci." "

~ Alan Moore, Watchmen

Matthew Manning

2008-08-18T00:28:00.001-07:00

Seven in the first
Seven in the last
Two vowels in each
Double letters in the middle
Consonants.

Seven deadly sins
Seven days in a week
Two mistakes in each
Double laters in the middle
Constants.

Equinox

2008-08-17T23:51:00.000-07:00

There is, after all
Only black and whites
The shades of grey
Are only for the gifted;
The ones who stare
Blankly and silently
Into the flower of creation
And choose
Willingly
A life of destruction.

Run away Lily
Run away from me
As fast as you can
Towards the sun
You have the time
During this equinox
Into the tardy sun
Run away
Lily
A life of creation.

Stay away from me
My blue energy
Spilling wildly forth
Billowing atomic
From my bloodied palms
I am dangerous
Stay away
Lonely
A life of desolation.

Acceptance

2008-08-03T19:56:00.001-07:00

Sepulchred, permanent
Thoughts laid to rest
Like oranges hanging too heavy
On tired Florida trees.

This old man
Lounging in the garden
Filled with mad sadness
Thinks of her dancing.

Twirls of light scattered
Like ancient texts
On the ground floor
Of a monastery chamber.

The season fades red
And orange and yellow pale
As the demon begs once again
To take him away for good.

The fickle world tricks me
Telling me I belong
In this old body, tired,
Failing to belong

Everyone's Moved Away

2008-07-17T22:18:00.000-07:00

They say
That you need to be broken down
Before you can be built back up
But what I feel
Is that if you keep breaking me apart
And gluing me back together
The cracks just get more obvious
So instead
This time let me stay whole
And let the world break around me
Because I know
That the more I come apart
The more I have to admit to myself
That I'm not strong enough to change.

Cadavers

2008-07-07T19:44:00.000-07:00

The truth stuns and repels
Like a rushing bolt of light
Too afraid for hatred becoming
Altering the way the mind keeps
And discards the anger and hurt
Of a thousand years' bloodshed
Spilling me into the nothing thick
God dammit all of us each know
The truth inside his mind, burning
That his pain has never stopped
And he pines for release everyday
Like a man dead of grief
But resurrected to walk
Aimlessly
Painfully
Forever.

I Write Poems that are Depressing

2008-07-07T18:56:00.000-07:00

Hear me out, my cliched bullshit
Puddles of tears and blood
Shed in the name of self-worship
Believing myself most important
Better than everyone else's plight
Each other's dreams and sadness

Well, to me, they are.

Growing Up as the Fat Kid

2008-06-24T16:50:00.000-07:00

My heart goes out to the ocean
No companion in its vastness
A mere reflection of the sky
No ability to die.

My heart goes out to God
No companion in his fullness
Only a reflection of our fear
No ability to live.

New Orleans, Louisiana

2008-06-24T13:49:00.000-07:00

Walking down Bourbon Street
Surrounded by excess and defeat
Camera hanging at his chest
Hands wedged deep in blue pockets
With the air spinning neon around him
The whirling madness completely blocked
As his eyes are fixed on a cumulus cloud
Floating marvelously, lonely in the sky
Completely oblivious to the debauchery below
Not at all frightened of its dissipation
Tearing it apart every second
So he stops right before Frenchman's
Raising the camera to his dark face
And clicks the button for a shot
Knowing he is the only one to ever know
The story of this cloud's life.

An Old Man I Once Knew.

2008-06-17T16:52:00.000-07:00

Through the dimness of six years time
I have lost you in the murky dark of differences
And I no longer feel your shirt with my finger.

You built me like I am with your enormous hands
And I still remember you holding me when I was scared.

It feels like the last time I knew you loved me
Was before I could even say it back to you
Only with my eyes, staring toward your mighty face.

Your weathered old face, with the resolve of John Wayne,
The strength of King Arthur, the love of God.

I can't say that I don't miss you
As we struggle through details on the phone:
Check on the car, make sure I'm paying rent

Ask me if I've lost any weight or if I exercise,
Be sure that I've made a visit to see Grandma.

Then there is that ten seconds of silence at the end
Where you're supposed to ask me how I'm feeling
And tell me that you still love me.

Would it make any difference if I told you
That I can't do this without you, that I need you in my life

That I want my dad back,
That I feel so alone without him,
And that I still love you.

I can't do it for another six years.

June 18th, 1984.

2008-06-17T16:46:00.000-07:00

The architect squints and takes aim with a square
Plotting out the demise of his childhood dreams
As they leave his mind and draw themselves on earth
The sun breaks as it hits his shoulder and shatters on the sand
As he cries a manly sob just like his father taught him.
A deep breath in resolves the abdominal tension
And our hero walks alone, toward piles of wood and metal
Only to realize that he is missing the most important part.

Sorry

2008-06-17T15:11:00.000-07:00

I haven't had internet in three weeks. Should be writing fairly regularly again.

She is a Capulet

2008-06-09T08:52:00.000-07:00

One can of soda
Rolling down the walk.

Rolling right through me
Before we got to talk.

More and More

2008-05-17T02:41:00.000-07:00

Usually, as followers of this blog will know, I only write poetry. But every now and again something happens that just won't fit within the confines of poetry...yet. For things like this, I express them in prose.

Let's get the milieu out of the way. It is 2:41 am on Saturday (technically) and I am typing this with a mind full of garbage, lungs full of smoke, and a stomach full of Guinness. Forgive my misspellings, if there will be any.

Earlier tonight, a girl (B) that I don't know all that well but that I respect because of what I do know about her, introduced me to her younger sister. Her younger sister (N) was perfect in what I look for in women (not surprising given that she is the younger sister of B) - she was beautiful, interested in world affairs, confident, self-sufficient, conversational, bold, and sassy. Upon first meeting her, I found that I was very interested in getting to know her. This phenomenon is not uncommon. When I meet a girl that is all looks and not much else, I admittedly don't care all that much to talk to them, as talking only serves the purpose of convincing myself that they are not for me. But N was different. She went to school in a different place, and seemed genuinely interested in talking to me. Attraction aside, I was excited to meet a new person.

Not even two minutes into our conversation, her sister B leans toward her sister and points at me. Without even hearing her talk, I already know what she's about to say. The same condemning phrase that I hear more and more lately.

"N, you only trust him as far as you can throw him. Don't listen to a word he says."

I stare on and maintain my smile. I know that B was only joking - insofar as she was not trying to offend me. But I'm sure that B knows about me and knows about my past, and was giving a natural bit of advice to her sister. Half in jest, half for serious. I smiled and played on, covering up my insecurities with humor, as I always do. But...

Have you ever been hurt by something more because you know it IS true rather than that it is NOT true? This is how I felt. I was hurt. And perhaps I should be hurt. More and more I return to my empty bed each night, loathing myself for how reckless I have been with the hearts of others. And now, no one knows me in any other way except that wrecking machine.

I used to think of myself as a kind, honest, and compassionate person. Sometimes I still think so. But more and more I find that perhaps my reputation is one that I deserve. And one that I'm sorry for.

So B (and of course, N), I'm sorry you think of me that way. I promise there is still a good person underneath somewhere. Someone who wants to do more good than harm. Someone that is honorable and true. Someone that is capable of loving others the way they deserve. But for now, perhaps you're right. More and more, you're right. Perhaps I am the one that you should keep away from your younger sister. And for that, I can't tell you how sorry I am.

Adolescent Questions

2008-05-06T07:39:00.000-07:00

I tip my hat to the desert:
Smothering,
Death-draggled,
Heartless,
Honest
In wanting me to die
The more that it lives.

Fail me now
My misshapen dreams
Cascading through time
Away from me
Towards the infinite
Show me the equation
That brings this love -
Love-long-forgotten,
Archeologically discovered,
Dusted off by hand,
Held up to the sun,
And praised like a god
For all the world to see -
Back to me.

If not, then keep me here:
Staggering,
Love-fucked,
Starving,
Promising
That pieces of me die
The more that you live.

Unexpected Death

2008-04-28T16:08:00.000-07:00

This phone -

Never picked up in time

The dial tone

Deafening

The missed calls

Full

Falling away from this world

Into the blue arrowed queue

Release me with the green one

Condemn me with the red one

Never deserving of friends

Never able to get over

Being my wretched self.

The Fifth Stage.

2008-04-16T03:17:00.000-07:00

never has a spring's white sun dawn

inspired so much verse from me

as the very thought of you will do.

wrapped up and blanketed in your love

just like the comfort of the mother's womb

or safety of a newly spun cocoon.

i bustle for your love to be with me shared

sprinkled atop like magic dust in a fairy tale

anointing me as your chosen christ-figure.

how is it that with all of this love I give

i have but none to get in return,

none to place in a heart close by?

the world shrinks away from me and I hide

i still have all of this self to give away

but i just have nowhere to put it.

my memory isn't cold enough to remind me

of the historical fiction we wrote together

we never could decide on the same ending.

is it cruel to say that I can't picture your face,

your arms, your legs, or the curve of your hip

but never forget your shrinking silhouette?

i extend my hands and write the words on air

with an invisible pen that records no marks

and a soul that remembers no pain.

this is my love poem to you:

unrequested, unrequired, unrequited

lacking any shape, form, or fear.

so light a candle and crack the wine

pour a glass and push it across the table

set it in front of the empty chair where I once sat.

The Middles.

2008-04-13T16:42:00.000-07:00

So, here I am now - staring over all of these four by six love stories. These things that have been picked up and swirled around and twisted and drenched and dropped like socks in the rinse cycle. All of these things that were caught in the storm. Once they finally land, I spread them out in front of me, a collage of faces that I scarcely remember. Faces that I have nothing left to say to anymore. For a moment, I wonder if the African or Latin American or Chinese proverbs were true - the ones that say that pictures steal a part of your soul that you can never get back.

And now I'm out back again, leaning on the same brick I have been for the last six years, smoking the same cigarette that I've been smoking for the last six years, trying my best to remember that feeling of the first hit. And I wonder, who stole this time away from me?

Peering out of my summer window, I look at the garbage cans in the alleyway and click away on my keyboard, the words to a reflection I'm giving at a retreat on how God helped me to accomplish everything that I've accomplished.

Lying on an apartment floor, I slowly realize that I've used god to accomplish everything I've accomplished in college. Dear god, make me sober, but not yet.

Once again, I'm mixing drinks in an apartment above Murphy's for a party I'm not going to, ready to return to an empty apartment and get back to the drawing board so I can figure out what it is that keeps my bed from ever being warm by the time I crawl into it.

Now I'm filling out a college application, thinking that everything will be different now. As if an hour and a half of distance could possibly save me from the mistakes I've made in the first eighteen years of my life.

It can't be as good as I remember it. Or maybe this can't be as bad as I think it is. Either way, I'm looking for the quickest possible escape route. Either I'm going back towards you, or I'm running scared. And, as you've stated, your roads are currently under construction. Indefinitely, I suppose.

I run over and ask my mom why people get married. Her answer is something about love, but I'm not sold. I just want to stay young and play my whole life. I pour myself a half glass of two percent milk and sneak some chocolate mix into it, then I sit back on my teal bean bag chair.

Emphysema is a serious diagnosis. I won't survive it. I can't bare to tell my wife or kids. What a miserable waste. As it turns out, all of my pleasures were so selfish, even before I knew they could be.

And why can't I just be with myself? And why does the sun have to be so goddamn predictable? And why do I have so little money? And why did you say all of those things to me, if the truth was actually easier than the lies?

It's so much easier to think that I'm totally fucked up because of you, instead of blaming it on myself.

Desmond.

2008-04-09T12:16:00.000-07:00

Love - in the most general, boring sense of the word -

Is a frightened child...

Wandering in the department store -

Crying -

Looking for its mother.

You've Got a Beautiful Way

2008-04-07T15:17:00.001-07:00

Someone please put music to my words.

Fuck it All

2008-03-27T12:28:00.000-07:00

The heart muscle stumbles

And loses its way

Along the bumpy roads of Belmopan

Where the delight of life's treasure

Is said to be found.

If it is as you say it is,

Then this is the saddest story ever told

And my Everest is a heap of dirt

Abram is atop, ready for the sacrifice

Sinking into the mud.

I'm weak now, and weary - tired -

And too old for heroics

(I was never really young enough)

Where can I rest my head for a moment?

(Or for a lifetime as you pass me by).

Angry now, frustrated

The soundtrack audio is climaxing,

Racing, surging, pulsing, unrelenting,

Billowing like flames from the speakers,

And I'm screaming -

Look at me, God damn you!

And our protagonist cries,

Because you can't hear him at all.

Because he used to mean something to you.

The surrender is brief and painless;

A tiny white flag that fits in your hand.

A Desert, Somewhere in the West

2008-03-20T20:53:00.000-07:00

The dusty beggar's revenge

Comes cloaked in shades of satin

Just in time for youth

To spill away in circles

And leave your cherry dry lips

Begging for another sip of water

Just before death.

Scars

2008-03-16T03:52:00.000-07:00

Blood-red, stitched, ecchymotic-black,

Two inches long, a million feet deep

The hole

The whole of me

Is scarred.

Poor penance for the scars I've made,

So I'll just walk alone for awhile.

Truth.

2008-03-02T02:19:00.001-08:00

I'm closest thing to royalty alive.

The Avenues.

2008-02-27T05:49:00.000-08:00

Its not out of amusement

That we torture our poor selves.

Writhing from our mind's fire,

Before we even get to hell's.

No, not for amusement

Or Kantian obligation -

But rather to keep pace

With our fashion nation.

To be miserable-chic:

Vintage belt, hang it loose,

Red, glossy wrist polish,

A black pashmina noose.

To be a star, to be the center

A walking suicide,

All these pills are rhinestones

Adorning your insides.

I love the ways you fall apart

The way you touch my face -

My sweet friend of high street shopping,

Don't let your atoms waste.

I am Everyone that I have ever Hated.

2008-02-26T14:29:00.001-08:00

"I'm sick, I'm sick, I'm sick,"

I say to rock myself to sleep.

Counting my regrets,

Instead of counting sheep.

18th of June, 1984.

2008-02-24T17:00:00.000-08:00

I am the one who prefers the summer.

Walking to work in the quiet pale orangeness,

The stale heat leftover from the night before,

Heavy hot mist stalling lovers' quarrels,

With front porches full of elderly nostalgia.

Vast concrete oceans strewn with summer fish:

Black bike tire skids,

Unused fire crackers,

Cigarette butts,

Smears of mud scraped from size 5 shoes.

Lying down,

Hands folded behind my head,

On the embarrassing grassy patches

Leading to the shelves of green sewage

We tenderly call Bradford Beach.

Window open,

Driving the long turns into Shorewood,

Staring at the big houses by the lake

For once full of pity - not envy -

For those couped up inside today.

Just one more cigarette,

And I'll come back inside and sleep.

I'm trying to capture the summer smell.

I've been trying my hardest

Since June 18, 1984.

Nexus.

2008-02-18T15:06:00.000-08:00

Dawn breaks hard;

Like a bullet through glass -

S h a t t e r i n g

My forgetful distance.

It's only the opinion

Of this wakeful world

That this is the one that counts.

He Follows Me

2008-02-17T11:24:00.000-08:00

Knife between teeth

Earth beneath nails

Crouching slightly

Covered in mud

He's following me.

Everywhere I run,

Through forest and river,

He follows.

He's too fast,

He knows this land

Better than me.

On his arms and face,

Are tattoos of memories

Cruel red blood dribbling

Down his dirty brow

Spelling out in a forgotten language,

"Pain."

Darwin

2008-02-15T01:31:00.000-08:00

These inches, these slivers,

Pieces of myself,

Picked away and scattered,

Blown about,

Into the mystery of age,

And cruelty of this decade.

Each of them their own suicide.

Remind me again why I'm here,

What I'm supposed to be doing,

And why I stare in confusion

When everyone else tells me

To do what makes me happy.

Happiness is conquest.

Happiness is having.

Happiness is something

That in this very moment

I don't even remember

The last time I've felt it.

So we trod along

Hands in our pockets

Head tilted toward the ground

Dragging our feet

Waiting for our big moment

Our fifteen minutes of fame

Our fifteen seconds of orgasm.

Until the next comet comes

And blasts away our species.

Our fossils will show not even a hint

That we were any better than the apes.

A Little History of the World

2008-02-14T07:55:00.000-08:00

How little it seems, this piece of your heart

When once upon a time, I had the whole thing.

For Every Good Thing there is Something Sad, too.

2008-02-10T11:04:00.001-08:00

We miss the smell of new grass and innocence,

Wafting through the freedom of summer's air.

Tucking itself into the white sheets and pillows

That burdened to make us blissful and young

Even as we slept unknowingly atop.

Francis of Assisi

2008-02-04T15:18:00.001-08:00

My mother and I were having a conversation -

The usual stuff -

About how we just didn't understand the world

And how people treated each other,

And themselves.

When she said it, she didn't mean it-

But it's that kind of indisputable motherly advice

That no empirical studies could disprove.

She started like she usually did;

"I'll never understand it when people -"

I leaned forward in anticipation,

Already reveling in how much we have in common,

How much more similar I am to her than Him,

Ready to belt out the usual, "I KNOW! ME TOO!"

"I'll never understand it -

when people have to be around others all the time,

Because they just can't stand being with themselves!"

First a pause...my eyes widenened,

And I stuck my bottom lip up...

Then a smile,

Then a nod.

A good, solid nod.

"I know...me too."

Pollack.

2008-02-02T22:29:00.000-08:00

Cut. Burned. Wet regret falling into everythingdashmeviolently against the ground

Find ou
t
if you can even everevenevereveneverevenever overcome the insanity
and m o ooo notony of living inside
the rush of pillaging everyone else inyourpathetic life repeat:yourpatheticlifeyourpatheticlifeyourpatheticlifeyourpatheticlifeyourpatheticlifeyourpatheticlifeyourpatheticlifeyourpatheticlifeyourpatheticlifeyourpatheticlifeyourpatheticlifeyourpatheticlifeyourpatheticlifeyourpatheticlifeyourpatheticlifeyourpatheticlifeyourpatheticlifeyourpatheticlifeyourpatheticlifeyourpatheticlifeyourpatheticlifeyourpatheticlife

STOP OPOPOPOPOOPOPPOPPPPPPPP
STOPE
STOOP down and beg for forgivenesskissing my feet like jesus (pronounced hayzoos) find outwhoyouare and why with a face (((((like yours)))

You,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,aren't doing commercials.

//////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\pppppppllllllllllllease recycle my fate.

Hobbes

2008-02-02T15:27:00.001-08:00

Give me your fears
lost and found
Your secrets,
Pain,
Screaming out
Self-hating-self
Wicked me

We are Futility

Eternally Repeating
So alone
Amazed
Stunned, silent
Searching
Catastrophizing

Once more, I say
"Look away."
Or should I say;
"Why don't you see me?"
Hear me,
Remember me,
Standing out here
With no map to navigate
Or trees that feed me

Why won't you save me?

In the absence of morality
There is only strategy

And this world,
These people,
Us,
We are on our own.

Jude

2008-01-23T13:41:00.000-08:00

The wind wends its way apathetically
In the place where you once stood.
And time moves on without a thought
Of all your wisdom and good.

The clock didn't even spare a moment
To take reverence of my loss.
Sunday came and went like always
With no compensation for my cost.

The world spins and keeps us grounded
On top of mounds of soil.
Buried deep with rows of bodies
Our master plans seem foiled.

So tell me now while still a youth
How I should keep along?
Walking on so weak and weary
I've already done so wrong.

Something Apart

2008-01-21T21:18:00.000-08:00

After all of the fussing
And our parents are finished
Loving us the in the wrong-est ways
I'm still here
Waiting patiently
Almost falling asleep
To dream the lies of my childhood
Praying to a god I've denied
More than three times
Before the cock even awoke
But still yearning for embraces
The anointment of His or her love -
The stamp of approval needed
To certify that any of it
at all
was worth a damn.

A Wednesday of no Particular Interest

2008-01-16T13:51:00.000-08:00

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I'm Bored.

2008-01-03T05:11:00.000-08:00

Fuck it, let's start a magazine. Any kind of publication for that matter.

Honestly.

2008-01-03T03:14:00.001-08:00

I'm sick of people telling me that things will come in "due time." I hate that prospective employers read facebook pages and judge people. I wish that Oasis was as popular now as they once were. My back hurts all the time for no reason in particular. I'm clearly overweight. I can't believe college is over and I didn't even realize how awesome it was until now. I probably miss you but don't know how to tell you. Hangovers suck. Life would be easier if I was better at math. If you read romance novels, you are admitting that your life sucks. I listen to some songs on repeat like a million times and I don't care. I really like famous quotes but I hate famous quote books. I don't care if you don't like Wikipedia or you "doubt its legitimacy", I'm smarter than you because I read it so much. There is a difference between "further" and "farther" - learn it. I want to go trick or treating tomorrow and see how people react. How does my body not realize that it's fucked up to sleep until 3pm? I like single-ply because it lasts longer, I don't care how it feels. I don't send cards or return calls well. Deal with it. Panera Bread sucks. You just act like you like it because it's trendy and also because you suck. Milwaukee needs to stop giving so many parking tickets, people hate the city because of it. Tylenol doesn't work. Your dreadlocks smell awful. Stop sending me e-cards, they're stupid and my computer never loads them properly. Confusius made no sense. One episode of SportsCenter a day should do it. Save money on a ceiling fan and just buy one for eight dollars that you can put on a table next to you. Don't ask me to use a coaster because you shouldn't give a shit about your coffee table, its a coffee table. I'll try skydiving after you try bullet-eating. I will honestly pay you $30 to clean my room. I like it when people touch my arm or leg when they are talking to me. I hate it when people touch my shoulder when they are talking to me. It is seriously eight degrees Kelvin in my apartment. Dammit, I'm going bald. My mom is the shit. If you start a sentence with "I don't mean to be a bitch, but...", you're probably going to be a bitch by the time you complete the sentence. Gasoline smells amazing. I hate being alone all of the time. I give people advice all the time about how to fix their lives and I can't fix my own. I'm a train wreck but try to act like a hero every chance that I get. I'm addicted to everything that I like. I can't get over my disappointments of the past. I'm mad that not more people read this blog. I'm pissed that I haven't achieved more. I feel that 2007 was the worst year of my life. Maybe I'll go read a romance novel.

Depression, Infinity.

2008-01-03T01:14:00.000-08:00

I kneel on the blood red blades of grass
Glistening with the wetness of mistake
And I push a prayer through my chest
Asking God to help me to disappear
Just for long enough to escape tomorrow
And start again somewhere in bloom
To erase my catalog of sin and regret
And find out why my insides fail me
Why my mind refuses to stop shivering.

Send me back, Lord. I can do much better.
You've given me much more than I can handle.

Send me your Poetry

2007-12-24T03:31:00.000-08:00

Dear Loyal Readers (Reader?):

I hope you have enjoyed my more recent offerings. In the past, some of you have asked me to be more candid with my poetry, infusing into my works some of my applicable life experiences. Well, I don't think that I am the type of person to ever write literally about things that I have been going through, but I do think that it will be a good exercise to face some things that I have been feeling or have felt in the last six years of my life - my so called "college years".

In honor of this, I would like all of you to submit a poem in the comments section of this post a poem that you have written (or you can write one in just a few moments today) (nothing too elaborate) that reflects on the college experience. All submissions are welcome, and please write one if you are reading this, even if you want to keep it anonymous. I'll look foolish for writing this post if no comments are written, and the Poet Actors Guild will have my head for ruining their good name.

Don't be shy.

Matt

Witnessed.

2007-12-24T03:19:00.000-08:00

You woke me up early that morning
And told me that I no longer made you smile.
I wish I would have known earlier
So that I could have time to prepare a speech,
Write out one of my famous five page letters,
Or at the very least take a picture of you -
Staring at me through the camera lens
(To avoid any type of awkward confrontation) -
And let me hang the eight x eleven
Evenly above our large striped bed
To gaze into your comfortable pose
And fool myself into believing
That cameras are magical contraptions
That can freeze us in moments of time
Stealing a part of our soul
Casting it into kodak permanance
To let us live out the rest of our lives
In the naive utopia of young lovers.

As it turns out, the camera stole nothing.

Inspiration, Expiration

2007-12-24T02:38:00.000-08:00

He exhales softly with your book in hand
At 5:06 am on some Tuesday of no note
And feels the smoke colored sky lowering.

He wonders briefly what the difference is
Between the feeling twisting knots in his stomach
And the feeling you had on this day in 1983.

He adores your poetry but also hates it;
He loathes the way it was kept hidden so long,
A tell-tale heart stuck in the bowels of your home.

He has the guns and bombs ready
And is on the cusp of a cerebral revolution
But is waiting for you to wave the flag.

This will not be a revolution of violence;
It will be one of beauty and truth
Fueled by a battle cry of apathy

And disenchantment.

In two hours, this night will suicide
And give way to the conquering dawn.

In two hours, you might awaken
And find in me what was once inside of you.

~ Inspired by the poetry collection "Rebel" by Tom Rohe

December.

2007-12-14T08:54:00.000-08:00

It's freezing outside for anyone but smokers -
Anyone who isn't used to seeing their breath
Billow hot from their rigid cold bodies.

Lots of thinking to do under skies like this;
Clear like glass and completely unforgiving.

And you wonder how everyone but you
Seemed to escape the ironic depression
Of the wreath and light-strand nooses.

Aspirations

2007-12-02T13:47:00.000-08:00

The trauma of birth
Gives us our first impression
Of this wasteland of good intentions
An endless desert of picket signs
Suffocating with daily bread in mouth.

The drudgery of genius
Keeps me on this arm chair
Chin in hand
Wondering -

Is it time for the takeover?

Sinners go to Prison

2007-11-26T15:19:00.000-08:00

A thousand lifetimes lived in just one year.
I've learned everything that there is to learn.
Drinking hungrily from the maroon font
Of wisdom, and death - facing my mortality
Like a traveler stands on a mountain
Against the drapes of the heavy red sun
And faces the unbearable futility of self
Masquerading as a king, noble and righteous
Confused whether he is a hand puppet
Or his very own court jester.
Release the sin in heavy loads
And spill it onto the terra unawara
Remind everyone that there is a creator
And the score is being kept, like always.

I've been crippled by the burden of destiny
Woven meticulously with the thread of anxiety
And the threat of wasting into nothingness
To be adorned in the black cloak of chaos
And forgetfullness.

Release me.

Me Against the World

2007-11-21T16:09:00.000-08:00

I've chased a million rainbows
And opened my mouth for rain.
I have jars and jars of fire flies.
I've felt the scraped knee's pain.

I'm a grown man of age 23
A real, living, talking boy.
Pull my string and watch me speak.
I used to be a toy.

"I don't even recognize you,"
I've said to my reflection.
I wear so many masks
I've escaped my own detection.

Everything that I've done wrong
Was wrought from my decision
Everything that I've done right
I've done it with precision.

Forgive me world,
For asking so much.
I've always felt warm
Near your mother's touch.

Forgive me friends,
For giving so little.
I've always felt at home
Right here in the middle.

Either I make choices,
Or I don't.

Either I built this life,
Or I didn't.

Either I am wrong,
Or everyone else is.

I Have no More to Give

2007-11-11T21:11:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I wonder
If the reason that I hate
The insensitivity of this world
Is only because
It reminds me of myself.

100

2007-11-08T21:46:00.000-08:00

I never thought this blog would ever be something that I consistently wrote for, but here I am...more than a year after I started it. 100 posts have graced the pages of this site (about 50 that went unpublished). Not all of them were poems like I promised, but a good deal of them were.

Thanks to all of my readers for the comments. I do love comments.

Here's to a hundred more.

Cheers.

Pax, Lux, Libertas

2007-11-05T12:49:00.000-08:00

Heaven is that star,
Floating above the oak,
Sitting in your front yard,
You pinch it with your fingers.

One eye open and one eye shut,
Floating through the night.
Ignoring the mosquitos,
Take me to the moon

If I float in outer space,
I can't be captured in an orbit.
My heart was destined to be free,
All the way to heaven.

My mission is a mystery,
My path is apathetic,
So let me ponder in the cosmos
All the way to heaven.

I might crash
I might burn
I might meet my maker.

I might blaze
I might glow
I might find my meaning.

Midnight.

2007-11-01T21:47:00.000-07:00

I kick the tip of my shoe,
check my watch once more
and dig my hands deeper
As I shake the cold away
And curse the late winter.

I don't know where I am,
And it's getting late.

I Built God

2007-10-31T09:53:00.000-07:00

Maybe there is nothing more
Than what we can see...
We stare at our hands
We look towards the heavens...

We wonder what it looks like
To be someone else...
To look through their eyes
And be in their body...

When you talk with a friend
And drink of their voice?
Do you ever wonder if
They are telling you more?

The portal to God...
The way we understand...
Is found in our mind -
(Our mind is slang for our soul)

If there is a context,
And there is a cause,
If there is a subplot,
And there is a moral -

Then there is something
Beyond what we can see...
And if there is more to it
It is probably heaven.

We are Assembly Line

2007-10-29T07:58:00.000-07:00

I am a man of the industrial age
And I write industrial poems
I have mastered the mechanics
Of Rhyme
I bang the hammer of meter and time.

I write these steel beams of thought
And chisel with precision
My thoughts and words are set in stone,
Sparks fly with each decision.

Molding my poems from molten steel
Lyrics stab like red hot rods.
Each time my pen strikes and creates
The supervisor nods.

I am Atlas, I am Galt
I'm your personal Howard Roark
Stare at me while I stop the world
Standing Still
Opening your mind with an electric drill.

Difference.

2007-10-26T18:26:00.000-07:00

If you happen to notice
When you're at a parade,
The little boy in the corner
That can't manage to wave.

If you glance at the register
And see the old lady
Handing back the change
With a "thanks" that's fading

If you peek at the man
With a briefcase in hand
And wonder what's inside
That's making him so sad

Then you know, my friend
That inside there's pain
You know that life can be cold

And then my friend,
My dearest of friends,
You have yourself to hold.

Arlington.

2007-10-21T22:17:00.000-07:00

Find me here, indifferent,
Wondering,
Which way is home -
A place that's been whitewashed
And destroyed
By the mystery of time
Or the death of memory
And laid out neatly
In picture frames in the den.

What happened to the lessons,
The lap-sitting with grandpa,
And the nostalgia of movies?

Perhaps I shouldn't have folded
So damn quickly
So permanantly.

This final resting place
Me, a formidable puzzle piece
You, the hole in the ground.

The constant search to be completed
Will never be the answer to our happiness.

Kinged.

2007-10-16T19:45:00.000-07:00

Crawling up within me
And curling like a sleeping cat
You're inside my mind
You're driving me mad.

I can feel it now, quickening,
Dripping out of my eyes
Into big pools of maroon selfishness
And drowning me so kindly.

Visit me soon, scythe in hand
Let's play this game of checkers
I haven't the patience for chess
And this way maybe I can win.

Let me rip my hair out
Bunched in hand like seeds
Dropped in circles around me
Casting a spell of protection

To keep old age away
And keep my soul inside.
While all the while I gasp for air
And scream with all that is left;

"Stop stealing little bits of me."
"Stop stealing little bits of me."

Six.

2007-10-14T01:10:00.000-07:00

Turning your head softly towards me
You decieve me with your slanted glare
And keep me here to shiver and wonder
If we are the only beings left in the cosmos
That haven't found each other.

Cry for me now, silently, in that corner there
And tell me stories about how you of all people
Ended up here alone in the desert
So far from your friends and family
And anyone who ever cared.

Are you a Christ figure?
Are you everything that I hate?
Are you everything that I am?

We hate the things about others
That we try to hide in ourselves.

Autumn

2007-10-07T15:31:00.000-07:00

Believe me when I tell you that Fall is a three month Sunday. You know the feeling. Yes, Sundays are relaxing and, yes, most of us have Sundays off. But you know what is coming tomorrow. You know that Monday or Winter or Work or Worry are on their way.

Trust me. Fall is a three month Sunday.

Cold Bed

2007-10-06T01:05:00.001-07:00

Take another drag of your cigarette
And sigh.
3 am is no time for self-improvement
No time for new careers or lovers.

The day is done
Now suck it up
And exhale quietly
As you take stock
Of another wasted 24 hours.

You blew it.
Genomes won't decode themselves
And nobel prizes won't be impressed
With your high video game score
And brand new detergent.

You failed
You lost
You missed your chance.

The way I make myself sick
Makes me sick.
The way I was wasted all night
Makes me feel that I wasted my day.

No changes now.
No renovations or glory.

Just me, my cigarettes, my regret
And this cold bed.

Alter-ego

2007-10-01T12:08:00.000-07:00

Man I need an alter-ego. Like bad.

I can't figure out who to be though. I mean usually alter-egos are like the opposite of the person that we are. Steve Urkel had the smooth talking and clean-cut Stephan. Clark Kent has Superman. What the hell would be my opposite? I don't know...but I want one. With a cool name. And once I figure out his (or her, I guess - I should stay open-minded) mood, mannerisms, dress, and outlook on life, I need a name.

I really want to come up with this alter-ego and then hit a night out on the town as this new dude. I would completely assume a different role and carry myself a completely different way. I can't wait.

But first I need your help...what is my opposite? What would my alter-ego look like? Any suggestions on names?

Until then, I'll just be posting as poor old Matt (sigh...)

At Least I'll Never not be Anything

2007-09-29T10:52:00.000-07:00

Take your chalk in your hand
Shaking
Place me on the cold ground
Lost and Found
Etching with cruel precision
The outline of my body
Still life outlines of my death -
You can figure out if that's ironic
Now
Or you can figure it out later
But truely,
You can very well see
That tracing me on the ground
Is the only time in your life
When you will ever be
Be able
(Have the ability) to capture -
And hold onto me -
What I am
And my limitless possibilities
Breaking all of the....................................rules
The infinite personality disorder
Seen through
many faces.

Think about that for a second...
Which version of me do you know?

God!
I am full of myself.

...Or maybe I am just full of self.

Perspectives.

2007-09-28T00:00:00.000-07:00

He wonders alot
What the difference is
Between being content
And being numb.

He thinks about the truth
About getting older
And getting wiser
And what that really means.

He stares straight ahead
And believes in a God
That passed over him
On his millenial rounds.

He believes in a purpose
That never does him wrong
Spun from his own doing
And wrought from his own grit.

When you panic,
And I panic,
He stays calm.

He is his Mortgage
He is his Car Payments
He is his Retirement

No time for fate
No time for meaning
No time for wasting.

He loves a woman
That loves him back
For everything he does
Despite everything he doesn't.

Dad.

Creation in Canon D

2007-09-21T20:47:00.000-07:00

Like a butterfly in my hand
Or a bird on my shoulder
You sit.

Whispering me wonder
Calming my weary heart
You glow.

With the night in my eyes
And the stars in my pocket
We float.

Like paint on the canvas
Or a brush in my hand
I create.

Like the coffee in the pot
Or the book on the table
I am unfinished.

What is love,
If not the highest artform ever known?

Living the Dream

2007-09-12T09:41:00.001-07:00

We all want to "live the dream." The phrase itself conjures up images for each of us. Maybe for you it's driving in a speed boat towards the Gulf of Mexico with a icy mojito in hand. Maybe it's your dream house and perfect marriage. Maybe it's a job you've always wanted.

And see, I want to live the dream too. I want to be in that spot in my life where I stop in my tracks, take a look around, and say, "damn! I'm livin' the dream!"

Note: At this point, I must be wearing a white tux with a top hat and cane.

The only thing is that I don't ever think that I can live the dream. I don't know if that is just the way that I am or if it is indeed not possible to live the dream, and those that think that they are doing so are only fooling themselves.

You see, for me, life is always about advancing oneself. Going further. Getting better. Reaching higher. Achieve more. Earn more. Be more. And everyone is this way. EVERYONE. Even a meditating monk wants to go further. Wants to take another step towards Nirvana. The realtor wants to sell another house. The disgruntled city workers builds his pension. The professor looks for that next research grant. Everyone wants to improve their lot. Everyone.

So then, before I get too Walt Whitmanesque here, I have to ask; how can I arbitrarily draw a line in the sand and say, "hey, right here, right now - I am living the dream"?

Right now, I am doing what I have wanted to do for two years leading up to it. I thought I was living the dream. And maybe for a second I was. For a second. But once I realized I was in the middle of that dream, it started to feel abit too vivid for me to be a dream. So, I pinched myself. With homework, and deadlines, and tests, and study groups. It's not that I don't love it. I love it. I want to be here. I want to be in this reality right now. But this isn't "the dream." The dream doesn't have online quizzes.

So you get your balance back. Dust yourself off from the journey from there to right here, lay your head on your hand, sigh, blur your vision in the distance, and start thinking ahead to that next time that you are going to be living the dream.

DON'T THINK ABOUT...

2007-09-05T08:09:00.000-07:00

...A PANDA BEAR!

You just thought about one, didn't you?

Life Inverted

2007-08-31T11:12:00.000-07:00

He doesn't even like the taste
Yet he sips his coffee gingerly
And adjusts his black-rimmed glasses
While flipping through the New Yorker.

57 pages, several short stories read.
11 more pages to go until he feels smart.
11 more years until he feels whole again.
57 more lifetimes until this headache goes away.

He remembers the lightness of times gone past.
The days that he used to yearn for change.
For drama.
For hurt.

Now he yearns once again for silence,
And another goddamn cup of coffee.

Let's Do Something Great

2007-08-28T21:35:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me knows that I am generally obsessed with myself.

And because I'm not going to start apologizing for my apparent infatuation with my legacy this late in the game, let's just move on from that and start to unhealthily indulge my ego.

Let's do something great.

I say it all the time, and I mean it. I sit there alot and think about what I could do to change the world. I'm not talking about world peace or the end of poverty...I mean maybe I am...but I just want to do something big. Something big that I can preferably manage from my laptop computer.

So friends, visitors, please - throw some ideas out there. Maybe if we put our heads together we can change the world. Or perhaps just make a boatload of money. Either way, I guess what I'm asking is,

What's the big idea?

My Happy Pill

2007-08-23T17:29:00.000-07:00

And today I reached a point when I realized that clouds and rain no longer make me feel the way that they used to. They don't reflect the sad music playing inside my head any longer, because, well, there is no sad music anymore. You know its hard to accept the fact that I like sunny days and bright colored shorts and grass seats at concerts. Its hard to accept the fact that I no longer find comfort in being depressed. No longer is grief a crutch that I hold on to and explain away all of my faults and shortcomings. I am a happy person now, and the burden is strange and disorienting. I don't know how to play the part. I don't have the urge to stand at the edge of a pier anymore and let my scarf flow in front of me as I ponder the sad times of my life. Accepting the responsibility of being happy means that you have only things to lose.

But maybe that's it. Maybe happy means not being afraid.

(ht Sara)

The Sky Doesn't Know the Difference

2007-08-14T00:00:00.000-07:00

He takes walks every night
And appreciates the dark
For its stillness and acceptance.

The wind carries his song,
The song of each day's drama
And reminds him of his struggle.

Gray sidewalks feel his feet
And greet him with a tap
As he explores the perfect city grid.

Street lamps are beacons
Showing him the certainty
Of being lost in the dark.

His quiet is a scream
A harken cry in the mist
A promise to his little one.

Come away with me this night
And forget all of your worry.

Stay with me tonight
And remember all our love.

Be with me tonight
And for all the nights that follow.

Dear Albatross,

2007-07-30T07:32:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I spent the better part of this morning reading a well known column known as "Dear Abby"

I loved it. It was almost a quasi, more literal version of Post Secret. I didn't bother to look up her qualifications, but she seemed to give sound advice that people generally appreciated. So of course, I turned immediately to the number one information source Wikipedia (www.wikipedia.org) for more info on her.

There was not much of a biography there, but one interesting fact is the "Abby" is a pseudonym that has referred to two different women. The mother, Pauline Esther Friedman Phillips, started in 1956, and the daughter, Jeanne Phillips, took over officially in 2000. The mother, interestingly enough, was the identical sister of Ann Landers.

Anyhow, Pauline Phillips got the job after sending in a letter to a newspaper at the time saying that she could do it better than the columnist they had at the time. She was brought in for an interview and hired.

Well, I'm here to say that I can't do a better job than Abby. But, I think my advice is unique and untraditional. Peppered with loads of unearned wisdom and clever analogies. So go ahead, faithful readers. Ask me any question you can think of, from how to remove that wine stain to how to deal with the pain of pet loss. Ask away! The advice superstore is open! Just start off your comment with

"Dear Albatross,"

That's my pen name.

The Center of the Nebula

2007-07-21T02:23:00.000-07:00

When someone goes crazy, sometimes its from drugs, sometimes its from genes, sometimes its a tumor. When you died, I went crazy because I couldn't accept it.

When our minds - so delicate, so new - can't accept something...when we can't accept the way that it is, we just go crazy. It's our last line of defense. When we decide to live inside of the comfortable womb of our fantasies - that' s when we go crazy. When we would rather decieve ourselves than deal with the pain of being alone, when we give in to our longing, when we can't live on the outside of our skin any longer, that's when we go crazy.

Some say that insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. I think that insanity is refusing to believe in something just because it hurts.

It exists. It is real. And it hurts. And when you died, I hid. I hid inside my insanity. When I was hurt, I hid inside my insanity. When others looked at me as being different, I hid inside that same insanity. Charging ever forth towards that cozy nook inside my brain where down is up and up is down, that's where I tucked myself away until the dust and the misery and the boredom subsided.

It took me forever to visit your grave. To admit that it was there. To admit that we, someday, come to an end and to admit that there is no way to defeat death. To see the cold chiseling of your name so permanantly engraved into the limestone.

One day, I'll plant a tree by your grave. And through the years, I will watch it grow into something beautiful. And as I do, my heart grows ever more beautiful each day I am alive, remembering when you were too. People like you make me hope so bad that there is a heaven.

Reflections on a Magnolia

2007-07-18T20:08:00.000-07:00

I water the plant everyday. The problem is, the thing just doesn't get any sunlight. I have it propped in that corner by the stove. It's the only place in my apartment that I have any room. I just don't know why I keep watering it. I just can't seem to watch it shrivel up like this. It doesn't matter...no matter how much I sprinkle. Without the sunlight, this bright happy plant just can't live. It takes the both of us, me and the sun, to keep it alive. It has to be nourished and cared for and cherished. I can't do it all by myself. Eventually, I'm just going to take a picture of it for the scrapbook and plant it outside. Perhaps in a place that someone will find such a beautiful flower to be peculiar, and pick it for themselves to care for it. But for now, I just want to look at my flower as long as it will let me.

Progress

2007-07-18T20:01:00.000-07:00

Misery is the fuel
For man's greatest products
Joy is the end
Of man's greatest pursuits.

Based on the progress
of the last 100 years
How thankful we are
How far we have come.
How miserable we are.