The universe, as humans know it, in all of it's infinite possibility and wonder, contains a certain cruelty, unmeasurable. To live with no purpose, other than to benefit a whole that would see you as nothing more than an obituary or a moment on the evening news were you to perish. Even so, we find courage in the strength, will, and love of others around us. Friendships and families bind us to this merciless mortal coil, this unfathomable existence, out of selfish desire and selfless love, and we too partcipate in this when so presented. We innately understand the unity and futility in being bound to this tragic existence. But behold, being aware of this is a blessing; that is, to know in this unending void of cosmic expanse and earthly turmoil, we can find solace within the true hearts that surround us and guide us back. These true hearts we find along the way, those who care, those who understand, those who help us through the many dark times, are worth many lifetimes of anguish. So I praise you, selfish hearts, were it not for you, I would be nothing more than a distant memory; nothing more than a thinning cloud, vanquished by the dawn of a new day.
10.30.12 (your door to my forest, my prison)
i had hoped
to tie a string
from my arm
to the the door
so i would not
have to leave,
but the wind
cut the night
into threes
therein.
your voice
in darkness
churned awful
memory,
but the night
and the wind
brought forth
certain clarity.
unchained from
the door,
but shackled to
a tree,
the wind
chills my bones,
in the night
still three.
unfortunate fate
forever haunting;
unlucky souls
yes,
that is we.
to tie a string
from my arm
to the the door
so i would not
have to leave,
but the wind
cut the night
into threes
therein.
your voice
in darkness
churned awful
memory,
but the night
and the wind
brought forth
certain clarity.
unchained from
the door,
but shackled to
a tree,
the wind
chills my bones,
in the night
still three.
unfortunate fate
forever haunting;
unlucky souls
yes,
that is we.
10.30.12 (unfinished)
there in the grass
i see shadows cast
over blades of green
they follow me.
there is not one,
but many.
they follow me,
reminders of persons
of all kinds,
forever trapt,
in the distance
of the past.
i see shadows cast
over blades of green
they follow me.
there is not one,
but many.
they follow me,
reminders of persons
of all kinds,
forever trapt,
in the distance
of the past.
10.30.12 (foolishness for now)
the poor man
has a certain sense
of clarity
in matters of the heart,
but a poor, lonely man,
abandons that clarity
for another drink.
has a certain sense
of clarity
in matters of the heart,
but a poor, lonely man,
abandons that clarity
for another drink.
10.30.12 (decidedly, no more)
i'll chop down
each tree
that blocks
my path
if only to see
but a glimpse
of the garden
that i seek
that i see
in my dreams.
i will cross
each river,
climb
each mount,
if only to find
what it is
that i lost
in that garden.
if i find it again,
in another place,
keep the old one,
or throw it away,
you can have
that piece
stinky.
each tree
that blocks
my path
if only to see
but a glimpse
of the garden
that i seek
that i see
in my dreams.
i will cross
each river,
climb
each mount,
if only to find
what it is
that i lost
in that garden.
if i find it again,
in another place,
keep the old one,
or throw it away,
you can have
that piece
stinky.
10.26.12 (shit)
Is any of this shit
The shit I thought
I would find myself
Waist-deep in
Struggling to find room
To breathe.
Dreams feel like
Memories
Of a person
I once knew.
10.23.12 (voyeur)
I began to experience a certain disconnect from reality. It's something we all come across once we've reached the bottom of the barrel. It's as if you are a voyeur, peering into someone else's life, experiencing their demise secondhand. It was strange, I couldn't find my own thoughts among the mess of static I heard teeming within my brain. The only thing I felt I could do was wait, and hope that this too would come to pass...
10.23.12 (silence)
Sometimes silence speaks words at greater volumes than any voice could ever carry. Moments turn to monuments, in one second of silence. It can contain a lifetime of lessons learned, or forgotten. It can complete or destroy a person. Such a simple, yet chaotic thing silence can be.
10.23.12 (spell)
Suddenly it came to fruition: why this had been so crippling. She was someone very different from myself, but very similar. She understood. Such a rarity to find. In any case, returning to my own thoughts was not a pleasant transition, it can never be after the sweetness of shared emotion. Such delicacies of the heart are never to be taken lightly, for they are the things that one carries with them for eternity.
10.23.12 (more mornings)
Mornings have never been easy for me. It's the time of day where either you've the world to save of ten more minutes to sleep. A kind of all or nothing. I could never get used to that. I usually get too anxious beneath whatever burden i've placed myself beneath to where prying myself from bed doesn't feel as hard. I've never been a very good sleeper...
10.18.12 (the rain)
i can hear it
i always do
your voice on the breeze
and in the rain too
you echo through
silent halls
love penetrating
crumbling walls
i can hear the rain
pouring down outside
so i run to the fields
cold water chasing me
and tears crashing all around
and in this dream
there is more to this
more to us
your voice so crisp
joining the thunder
with each shout
as i cower backward
your voice grows louder
so i run to the fields
where you're lying there
you look to my eyes
cold water pouring
through your hair
and i am lost once again
8.28.12
It was a warm august evening, on a trip like many passed. I sat outside a bar in Brooklyn, with a vague idea of how i had ended up sitting outside with the beautiful girl I was sitting next to. She spoke in an Australian accent, and was damn cute. Conversation flowed in lieu of the drinks of the evening running dry. Talk ensued of american habits and ticks, of plans, of trips. Our eyes locked and we exchanged a kiss. She said felt self conscious of the taste of cigarettes on her lips, so I took a drag of her cigarette and said we were even.
We left the bar with her two friends, hailing a cab to bring us back to their hotel. I asked her if she was going to stay with them, and she said a simple, "maybe." She had a bigger man with her that they called uncle. Uncle was large and hairy, but had a welcoming voice that rendered him all but harmless. Her other friend was smaller statured and also attractive, but not nearly as talkative or assertive. We dropped both of them off at the hotel and they left with a stern warning for her to wake up at 9 AM.
We arrived back at the apartment I was staying at, hands fondling the dark to find our way to the bedroom. When we approached the bed we began shedding layers. Brief conversation, feverish kissing, we lay tangled together. We kissed madly. When we began to shed more layers frantically, while kissing and making our way back into the bed.
Many hours later I awoke in a daze next to her graceful nude body, jarred awake by a ringing phone. I looked to see that we were an hour late to wake up, so I wake her. She hops up immediately, dressing herself in a panic, speaking of how she had no phone and had to hope that her friends were still in Central Park where they were to meet up and eat mushrooms. She rushes to the door, barely giving me time to put on pants and a shirt, and kisses me at the door with a short goodbye. She rushes off to hail a cab, and I, dumbfounded, head back to bed. Hours later, sitting on a subway train, I am still in awe: haunted by her voice, by her scent that clings to my hands, skin.
If I could only remember her god damn name...
10.17.12 (irony)
irony,
if only you knew
how well i
had forgotten.
if only you had
seen the days
go by as i.
if only you could
remember why
we came to this.
if only you witnessed
the slightest tortures
ever present.
if only you would
stop following me,
stop torturing me.
i guess that too
would be ironic.
if only you knew
how well i
had forgotten.
if only you had
seen the days
go by as i.
if only you could
remember why
we came to this.
if only you witnessed
the slightest tortures
ever present.
if only you would
stop following me,
stop torturing me.
i guess that too
would be ironic.
10.17.12 (sum)
The afternoon sun, reflected from the tops of clouds, poured through my window. I took a drink of my coffee and looked down the aisle; "there are too many kids on this damn plane," I thought. It had been months since I had set foot in the place I had come to call home: Phoenix, Arizona, and now I was only a couple hours away.
Fleeing from pains of betrayal and heartbreak, I went east to reclaim some thing I felt I had lost. Anything to cure me of my inconsolable state of apathy. It had controlled me for months. Days spent indoors, binging on alcohol and sadness, barely finding the will or desire to leave. Near breaking, it felt as if there was no other way.
The mountains of Pennsylvania had a slight, but noticeable effect on my demeanor, working full days off little sleep. Carried by the hands of friends, and always with a coffee in mine. The days grew longer, but I began to mind less, as if I was stuck living the same day for eternity. Many nights we escaped from that strange place to the nearest bar, and filled our stomachs. Tensions rose naturally, and it soon became time for me to return west. Like the fog I watched roll off the mountains each morning, I felt my burden grow lighter at the mere thought of it. Suddenly excitement returned to me. With thoughts of times long gone, smiling faces, and loud memories, I felt it was time for me to take my leave.
A brief foray to New York was all the travel I would allow myself. Having pushed the forgotten beauty to the back of my mind, heartache didn't seem so real. I spent long days in the streets, scurrying about with my friends. A few days into my trip, an ex lover appeared. We met for lunch, a play, some beers. The next morning we got breakfast at a diner, and I think she could tell; my summer had changed me. I had lost interest in most things, relations between us included. I haven't spoke to her since. During the course of the week I scurried about the boroughs of Manhattan and Brooklyn, with the company of more and more good friends. On my last night in town, we went out to bars, had drinks, had fun. I met another, a stranger, the Australian.
She was shorter than I, about 5' 4", with long reddish-brown hair, and sharp facial features. She wore a sheer black top beneath a black overcoat, with black jeans and high heeled shoes. After closing, we sat in a circle, her two friends to my right and she to my left. She complained that she smelled of cigarettes, so I took a drag, and said "Well, now we both do." We grabbed a cab, and hopped about to drop her friends to their respective hotels around Downtown Brooklyn, before headed back to where I stay in Bed-Stuy. The next morning, we had woken up late, an hour late. We had both set alarms, and managed to sleep through all of them; it had been a good night. Scurrying to dress, she hurriedly gathered her things and made her way to the front door. Barely having time to put on pants and a t-shirt, I followed her to the door. She left with a kiss, without even telling her name.
Leaving New York, I continued west for a brief visit to my father in Ohio. It was brief, and filled with visits to the local county fair, where we gorged ourselves in fried food delicacies. I departed there in high spirits, though the Australian was still a mystery that would not escape me. A delayed bus ride, and I was in Chicago, the home of my Mother.
I had recently found out that she and my stepfather were in the process of splitting up, and that we were no longer welcome in the home I grew up in. They had just entered the long course of moving out when I arrived. It was a strange time. My stepfather's nephew had moved into my old bedroom. That was a strange thing for me to grasp: I no longer had a bedroom. I spent my days on the couch, a few on the couches of friends. Many drinks later, and a couple nights out and around, I departed from Chicago to St. Louis by way of an Amtrak train. It was a quaint ride: the large farm fields of southern Illinois at the end of summer flying past. St. Louis was an even shorter stay, with nothing but friends, beer, VHS tapes, and a Sega Genesis. Friendly faces, old and new, rejuvenated my trip. With days passing and school impending, I could not stay long.
It came quickly–it took me by surprise... I was going home. Suddenly the last few months seemed like a century, and I felt like I was returning to a foreign land. I boarded my plane, with my mind racing with thoughts that sounded like static from a television screen. I began to remember the times when I was withering, and the many drinks that I had drank to forget. I found my seat, an aisle, with an empty middle seat, and an old woman already sleeping against the window panel. I began to think of her, the nights leading up to what would be my demise. I chewed on my lips, anxiety beginning to course through me. The taste of blood brought me back to reality. I looked around, noticing the four children within three seats of me. "This is going to be hell..." I thought. I was right. Screaming children overpowered the music in my ears as we took off. "Goodbye Midwest," I thought once again.
The stewardess came by, and I did my best to fall asleep, but the incessant noise of toddlers and babies thwarted whatever hope I had of slumber. They had already served drinks too. I made my way to the back of the plane and relieved my self in the lavatory. As I zipped up my pants, and turned for the door we hit a pocket of light turbulence, which was all the motivation I needed to return to my seat. The plane steadied, and as the stewardess passed, I ordered my coffee. It would be one of many on this four hour flight.
Fleeing from pains of betrayal and heartbreak, I went east to reclaim some thing I felt I had lost. Anything to cure me of my inconsolable state of apathy. It had controlled me for months. Days spent indoors, binging on alcohol and sadness, barely finding the will or desire to leave. Near breaking, it felt as if there was no other way.
The mountains of Pennsylvania had a slight, but noticeable effect on my demeanor, working full days off little sleep. Carried by the hands of friends, and always with a coffee in mine. The days grew longer, but I began to mind less, as if I was stuck living the same day for eternity. Many nights we escaped from that strange place to the nearest bar, and filled our stomachs. Tensions rose naturally, and it soon became time for me to return west. Like the fog I watched roll off the mountains each morning, I felt my burden grow lighter at the mere thought of it. Suddenly excitement returned to me. With thoughts of times long gone, smiling faces, and loud memories, I felt it was time for me to take my leave.
A brief foray to New York was all the travel I would allow myself. Having pushed the forgotten beauty to the back of my mind, heartache didn't seem so real. I spent long days in the streets, scurrying about with my friends. A few days into my trip, an ex lover appeared. We met for lunch, a play, some beers. The next morning we got breakfast at a diner, and I think she could tell; my summer had changed me. I had lost interest in most things, relations between us included. I haven't spoke to her since. During the course of the week I scurried about the boroughs of Manhattan and Brooklyn, with the company of more and more good friends. On my last night in town, we went out to bars, had drinks, had fun. I met another, a stranger, the Australian.
She was shorter than I, about 5' 4", with long reddish-brown hair, and sharp facial features. She wore a sheer black top beneath a black overcoat, with black jeans and high heeled shoes. After closing, we sat in a circle, her two friends to my right and she to my left. She complained that she smelled of cigarettes, so I took a drag, and said "Well, now we both do." We grabbed a cab, and hopped about to drop her friends to their respective hotels around Downtown Brooklyn, before headed back to where I stay in Bed-Stuy. The next morning, we had woken up late, an hour late. We had both set alarms, and managed to sleep through all of them; it had been a good night. Scurrying to dress, she hurriedly gathered her things and made her way to the front door. Barely having time to put on pants and a t-shirt, I followed her to the door. She left with a kiss, without even telling her name.
Leaving New York, I continued west for a brief visit to my father in Ohio. It was brief, and filled with visits to the local county fair, where we gorged ourselves in fried food delicacies. I departed there in high spirits, though the Australian was still a mystery that would not escape me. A delayed bus ride, and I was in Chicago, the home of my Mother.
I had recently found out that she and my stepfather were in the process of splitting up, and that we were no longer welcome in the home I grew up in. They had just entered the long course of moving out when I arrived. It was a strange time. My stepfather's nephew had moved into my old bedroom. That was a strange thing for me to grasp: I no longer had a bedroom. I spent my days on the couch, a few on the couches of friends. Many drinks later, and a couple nights out and around, I departed from Chicago to St. Louis by way of an Amtrak train. It was a quaint ride: the large farm fields of southern Illinois at the end of summer flying past. St. Louis was an even shorter stay, with nothing but friends, beer, VHS tapes, and a Sega Genesis. Friendly faces, old and new, rejuvenated my trip. With days passing and school impending, I could not stay long.
It came quickly–it took me by surprise... I was going home. Suddenly the last few months seemed like a century, and I felt like I was returning to a foreign land. I boarded my plane, with my mind racing with thoughts that sounded like static from a television screen. I began to remember the times when I was withering, and the many drinks that I had drank to forget. I found my seat, an aisle, with an empty middle seat, and an old woman already sleeping against the window panel. I began to think of her, the nights leading up to what would be my demise. I chewed on my lips, anxiety beginning to course through me. The taste of blood brought me back to reality. I looked around, noticing the four children within three seats of me. "This is going to be hell..." I thought. I was right. Screaming children overpowered the music in my ears as we took off. "Goodbye Midwest," I thought once again.
The stewardess came by, and I did my best to fall asleep, but the incessant noise of toddlers and babies thwarted whatever hope I had of slumber. They had already served drinks too. I made my way to the back of the plane and relieved my self in the lavatory. As I zipped up my pants, and turned for the door we hit a pocket of light turbulence, which was all the motivation I needed to return to my seat. The plane steadied, and as the stewardess passed, I ordered my coffee. It would be one of many on this four hour flight.
10.17.12 (end)
bolts of confidence
go winding through
short lived, quick
but close enough too.
in trying to give up
i think i've found hope
though there's really no way
that i can truly know.
it all comes to this,
the end of one road,
i'll still have my drinks
and you'll still be stoned.
go winding through
short lived, quick
but close enough too.
in trying to give up
i think i've found hope
though there's really no way
that i can truly know.
it all comes to this,
the end of one road,
i'll still have my drinks
and you'll still be stoned.
10.17.12 (of days)
dizzy girl
fuzzy brain
thinking circular thoughts
going insane
something elusive
but nothing trite
consuming our friendship
and everything in sight.
acceptance was hard,
so instead i forgot,
but in returning
i see i cannot.
something is brewing
i feel it all around
it trembles through my fingers
and through every sound.
good or bad
there is something here
change is coming
it is already near.
restless indecision
from you or from me
signals are crossed
i don't know what to believe.
but something is changing
it's beginning to show,
and in the back of your mind
i think i know you already know.
fuzzy brain
thinking circular thoughts
going insane
something elusive
but nothing trite
consuming our friendship
and everything in sight.
acceptance was hard,
so instead i forgot,
but in returning
i see i cannot.
something is brewing
i feel it all around
it trembles through my fingers
and through every sound.
good or bad
there is something here
change is coming
it is already near.
restless indecision
from you or from me
signals are crossed
i don't know what to believe.
but something is changing
it's beginning to show,
and in the back of your mind
i think i know you already know.
10.13.12 (funeral pire)
sticks and stones
soon will be my home
as i cast off
many layers
unto the funeral pire.
dreams of love,
dreams of the future,
burn before me,
beneath me,
turning dancing embers
to a raging fire,
and i watch it
burn
as my ghost,
spirited away,
drifts off
on the broken breath
of a cool
october breeze.
soon will be my home
as i cast off
many layers
unto the funeral pire.
dreams of love,
dreams of the future,
burn before me,
beneath me,
turning dancing embers
to a raging fire,
and i watch it
burn
as my ghost,
spirited away,
drifts off
on the broken breath
of a cool
october breeze.
10.2.12 (that's it)
that's it
i give up
i'll not be returning
once i take my leave
that's it
i'm through
i can no longer accept
the pain dealt on account of you
that's it
no more
this town has proven it's point
and now i will show myself the door
that's it
i'm done
though i cannot accept it, i must
i have done wrong
that's it
time to fly
i'm tired of laying around
waiting around to die
that's it
i no longer belong
but worry not, like i said
i'll soon be gone
i give up
i'll not be returning
once i take my leave
that's it
i'm through
i can no longer accept
the pain dealt on account of you
that's it
no more
this town has proven it's point
and now i will show myself the door
that's it
i'm done
though i cannot accept it, i must
i have done wrong
that's it
time to fly
i'm tired of laying around
waiting around to die
that's it
i no longer belong
but worry not, like i said
i'll soon be gone
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