Pet peeve #1

The use of the word "pimp" for anything other than to describe a person who finds and manages women (often very young women) who are vulnerable and susceptible, for what ever reason, to extreme manipulation and engages them in prostitution (in brothels and on the streets) in order to profit from their earnings. Even then, I don't like those sorta guys and hate comparing or being compared to one.

-Casanova =/= pimp. A pimp can be a casanova and a casanova can be a pimp, but they =\= eachother.

-Please do not "pimp" anything I own, and especially not my car. It would probably break down after a night of prostitution.

Thank you.

Disney buys Marvel Comics

An odd pair indeed.

Strap-on mohawk

Keepin' it real in comics

Comics never really were that popular. Besides around the time of their "creation" in the 30s/40s and maybe they may have had a slight insurgence in the 90s due to some hyped up stories to grab attention (Superman dies! Broken Bat! Hal Jordan, galactic murderer!), but after that, it's only been slipping further. There has of course been a huge influx of comic-themed movies since sometime around the new millennium, but those are probably the biggest payoffs anyone in the industry has seen in the past few decades. This blog isn't really about the state of the comic industry though. It's about comics; a slight obsession of mine since I was barely five.

I've been going through a ton of graphic novels lately (blame the library) and I recently went through the much-lauded Watchmen, and the less-lauded but still excellent Identity Crisis, both from DC. I've read dozens more, but these two have stuck with me the most.

Watchmen, for one, is not just a great comic, but it's great literature; great art; great period. Basically it's about if the world really DID have superheroes, how exactly would they affect things? It's not at all bright-eyed or bushy-tailed, as these heroes are decidedly human themselves. Some of them flat-out insane in their drive. Some with morals that need a little tweaking. There are plenty of other strange quirks to the writing and art itself; with many hidden themes, messages and details that bring the world to life. Ultimately, the book asks the question: is doing the "right thing" always the best thing for us and those around us? The climax is nothing beyond simply... fucked up. At the same time, the writing has a depressing futility to it, an underlying but biting sarcasm, and lacks hope in lieu of "real." There's hope in reality too though isn't there?? The writer, Alan Moore, is a self-admitted and supporting "anarchist" though, so I can see where it's coming from. Despite that one big flaw, if you read one graphic novel in your life, this should probably be it. That or if you grew up on superheroes or superhero comics, Watchmen will mess with the notion of "doing the right thing, at the right time, all the time."

Identity Crisis, which takes place in the regular DC Universe, revolves around practically every big hero and even some small ones, with Green Arrow doing the bulk of the narrating. Identity Crisis may not push the envelope of reality onto its heroes like Watchmen does, but it still deals with very real issues. Basically, have you ever wondered why a hero's secret identity was so important? Ask Elongated Man, who was almost always public about his identity. His wife is murdered in the first 20 pages, even with advanced and alien technology safe-guarding their home. This then sets off a sort of panic amongst all the heroes and their families; brothers, sisters, wives, husbands, children, even friends. When you put on a mask and fight crime, you're not only dragging yourself into it, you're bringing in everyone you know and love; most of which cannot defend themselves as well as you. The other issue explored in this is when a vote is cast in the JLA to not only mind-wipe a villain, but completely alter their personality. Basically... a lobotomy. Is it right? No. But what can you do when you can't kill them and you know they'll still go after those you love when they escape from prison again... oh and they will escape. The payoff isn't all that worth it at the end, as the mystery killer was just... whoops, spoilers. But it's the telling that makes this one of the more interesting DC stories of the recent years.

Comics are always fun to read, but they only tend to get better with a lethal dose of reality. For me at least.

Happy Rhodes

Kicking off with my first like actual blog post for seriously real, I'll start with this little known artist I recently discovered through last.fm of all places. Happy may personally get tired of the Kate Bush comparisons, but the sound is indefinitely there. Except for the part where her natural singing voice is decidedly baritone. She trained herself to sing in a falsetto that resembles Kate though.

Vickie (Happy's #1 fan) has been putting together a youtube channel full of videos of every single song Happy has released, of course with the blessings of Happy herself. An epic task indeed, so far only the first 3 of 11 or so albums is up. Here's a link: http://www.youtube.com/user/happyrhodesalbums#play/playlists. Give it a month or so and there will probably be everything she's ever done. Here are a few of my personal favorites though.





I'm a bigger fan of her later more electronic work, but this stuff's good. There are also a few tracks at the bottom on my "playlist" if you're looking for more. If you like what you hear visit her website http://www.auntiesocialmusic.com/ and/or buy some merch or a CD: http://www.dangerousmusic.com/cart.

i've been an advocate of the truth ever since i can remember. with that in mind i've tried to write fiction that's real and true, almost to try to convince the reader like it actually happened. but next to none of it did.

for such an advocate of the truth, isn't that the biggest lie of all?

I believe everyone is capable of art. When you put a poster on your wall, that's art. When you re-arrange your furniture, that's art. There may be naturally talented artists that are good to begin with and with a little practice are simply earth-shattering. But I believe if there's interest, practice, and hard work involved anyone can be at least good.

Art really is for everyone. Maybe you're just not for art.

this site is now dead or dead for the most part. i'm going to start posting more on http://valmurah.deviantart.com.

This one is pretty awful

She gives me some form of eye contact
 But I can't break away quick to see
Was it interest, no matter in the park
 Or was it obvious disgust

What's the matter, I shouldn't bother
 Who needs an angel when there's people lost
I don't need a better half
 I just need one good half
Even with these cut-ups no longer in key

Keep your sacred with your secrets
 Dredge the lakes where bodies rest at
Leave them in your closet, cabinet,
 Underneath your pillow, underneath the mattress
In the sock drawer next to the condoms
 In the cracks in the sidewalk
Mary and the Dirt run free

I'll be the judge
I'll be the arbiter
Even though I'm going straight to hell

See, I told ya

We've got a bleeder

They tell me it’s just a thing

Of no real consequence

No true means to fund it

No valid ends to warrant

Even a passing interest

He knocks at my door

Invites himself in and makes himself comfortable

Then tries to explain the system

Like intricate sewer grids

Searing through all the bullshit

But still so much slips through undetected

I offered him a cup of coffee

Even asking him how he took it

And searched for the sugar

I never made use of

Now fixed in clumps

Now cut in cubes

Now served with milk

I kept mine black

Then I laid it on thick

How the under-swept made me

Physically sick

And if he knew what was

Good for him

He’d never step foot

In this house again

He stood up then

Shook my hand

Shrugged and condescending

“We’ve all got to grow up sometime”

Then left

Don't you think I don't already know

I can't fight from the inside and risk becoming you

But I can't fight from the outside at all

Don't you think I don't already know

Don't you think at all

Quiet People

People don't approach me
I am not the approachable kind
They probably think I've got it all figured out
Like I don't need anything more in my life
But the perceptions have always been
Incredibly wrong

She tries so hard to continue the conversation
Thinking I might actually be involved
Maybe I could think of something myself
But I can't and won't force it like I used to
It's not worth the trouble, really

I recently met a girl I fell for almost instantly
But her boyfriend was better in so many ways
I just got choked up and walked away
She was mad because she thought I didn't even say "bye"
But it was only that she didn't hear me
I generally talk below a whisper

When I told you I loved you, I meant it
But when I told you to forget me
I was just so afraid I couldn't be with you
Talk to you, love you the way you deserved
And were the killer butterflies really worth it?
I wish I could say they were
I wish I could have known

You see this is why I'm still such a child
Because I can't get past myself and grow a pair
It's just so much easier said than done
It's just so pathetic but it's who I am

Your little boy
The one you'd always love
But could never stand next to

Shooter

They exist in their own bucket reality
Where man is a monkey
And the monkey is a child with
A handgun

“Our men are on it
We’ll have this all
Straightened out by
Tomorrow, I hope”
But the portal’s far too big
Too far ahead
And there’s something making its way
Around through flecks of shadow
So troubled
So anxious
As are we

Whose ignorance will pull the trigger this time

Our hearts said no
Our souls said no
Our minds said no
Even that split-second reaction before thought kicks in
Screamed NO
So why are we still wondering
Where we went wrong
All your friends for this scoured
Peel of grits and
Irritable but endurable
Sociopolitical ingrowth

I’m already marked
So I’ll seize the pistol
Knowing you’d never
Fire anyway
Thumbing the cylinder
It's not even loaded
Somehow I doubt
For the lack of bullets

You always got your man
You just never had to do it yourself
before now

(Oh, how a very literal dream can become such an allegory. Sheesh.)

Opalescent

You broke me out of one
Simple standard
To force me onto
(In Indian style
All the while)
Any other cliché
One for the other
It’s not okay
But I’ll endure
It’s my middle name

Where have we heard that one before

Whatever happened to sincerity
Does it really come in exchange for
Manhood?
Nobody wants a sacrifice
It’s even worse than
Picking sides
Nobody cares for the ineffectual
Loser
He’s useless as the

Blank, blank page
Blank, blank screen
All these dots and squiggles
All these pretty/ugly people
Selling you things you could never need
Create the problem, hand out the solution
Cheap as free

I want to bare teeth
Like a tree bears fruit
Not a perfect white
But blinding enough to kill you
If I wanted to
But I don’t want to
I just want us off our asses
And into the sunlight
Hot and festering
the entire way

To Do 2

-More with two or three completely different focuses. Some may call unfocused; challenge that notion.
-Minimal. Lose leeching articles.
-Take "form" seriously. May feel like example of style over substance. Humor it.
-Speaking form: syllable-centric lines and stanzas. Things people generally don't notice, but more rewarding to investigative reader.
-Points are great in their own right. Make some more reader interpretative.

-Any idea that feels/sounds ridiculous, explore before discarding.

Just Like So Much...

I want to give you so much shit
But what's my problem
At least you're pursuing some cause
What the hell am I doing?
Maybe I'm just jealous

What the hell do I believe in?
Art?
Even then I still scoff
at 90% of it
Like do they have it or
are they pretentious idiots?
What makes me the authority?
Just breathing?
It's not enough

I want to give you so much shit
But I already give myself plenty
For so much as thinking it

Last Asteroid

Static in the sidewalk cracks
I see you stirring as energy
Synergistic slow-motion
Always certain to evade the ghost
And as you reach stair-steps
And splinter
One billion shards of light and glass
Till they coat the screen
Fade out

Fade in
Key autumnal music
The middle of summer
Leaves loosen, fall
Red, yellow, but habitually
In brown
Feet, off-screen
Crush leaves
One billion pieces
Become liquid
Bleeding into the cement

Junkie spaceman
Alone in rocket ship
Coming down from
Last tick
Time passes
Weeks, months
Shudders
In cold sweat
Shaking hungrily
From withdraw
Stares out window
Porcelain earth
Reaches with finger
Touches
Shatters
One billion pieces
Acerbic

Calabria

I’m spending all this time
Blacking out faces
The feeling underneath is verbatim
With the one that I made up
I live inside

If I survive this summer
I’ll write and tell you how it went
As if you (or anyone) wants to
Hear me complain
As if any of us changed
In the way we wanted
Regardless
You’re for the better
I’ll always be worse

I’m sorry I couldn’t make
Your graduation
I’ll probably miss your wedding
And funeral too
That is of course if I
Hang around longer
Not very likely
And you probably won’t
Remember the promise we made
when we’re 72

I’m spending all this time
Watching you “grow up”
But we’re already grown up
Yours just happened
I don’t think I’ll ever feel like I did ---
Ya know? ---
It's something deep down there
In the gut

What do I pay you for your lies?
Is it free of charge or clocked by time
For a minute flat you can make me smile
But in seconds on the corners dull
What do I pay you for your love?
Is it all made up or do you feel something
Do I shake you from the inside
Or is that all faked surprise
What do I pay you?
Even when you’re not asking
Deep down you’re praying
Spewing your bullshit even through your eyes
Was it all an act when we made love?

What do I pay you for your boredom?
God knows I never piqued your mind
Even when I tried to pull you
Every white laugh was a tug at truth

What do I pay you for your lies?
What the hell was ever real with you

Dreams of the Southern Branch

(this one started out as a song... actually, it still is a song, i just need to get back into writing music.)

Did it feel like you thought it would
When they made you a wind and buried you in it
What did you expect with my
Armchair strategy, did you think we might actually win this?

All dressed up
In your apocrypha
Your hypocrisies
Do they fit right

All dressed up
In your best gown
You think they’ll let you
Drown down with it

Do you feel like you thought you would
In the middle of the street blocking traffic
Did you expect with my
Armchair strategy, that it would somehow soften the bullet?

All dressed up
In your apocrypha
Your lovelorn addiction
They don’t quite fit right

All dressed up
In your biggest fantasies
You know they’ll still wanna kill us
When we’re already dead

Even though I’m not a part of this
Even though I never asked for this
Why does it still surprise you when
I say I’m sorry, what can I do
Do what I can to get us through this
We’re in too deep now to ever quit
Why does it still bother you when
I say don’t worry, we’ll do something

All dressed up
In our apocrypha
We’ll go down shooting
If we won’t be heard

What did you expect with
My armchair strategy
That when it came to summer
We’d fly back with the birds

Somnambulance Pt 7

She stuck out like a thore sumb
Red yellow and torn around the nail
Chewed at and spit out
It must have cost her everything
She was old now
Older than I expected
It had only been ten years

Although a decade is actually
a relatively long time
It never feels like it though

The first thing she did
Was kick me in the face
And send a few teeth flying
As I sat there swearing
Spitting up bits of blood
And wondering what I'd done
Suddenly I found myself bothered
That now I'd look like one of
those hicks with no teeth
I hated that it bothered me
It didn't matter right now
What were a few teeth
Compared to my life

Surprisingly she held her
hand out and hoisted me up
And as we sat in silence
at the giant cafeteria table
she asked me if I was okay
and said she'd mistaken me for
someone else

Teeth kicked out for looking
like someone else
Why couldn't I look like a celebrity
and be asked for an autograph instead

I needed her help
so I tried to remain polite about it
But I couldn't help but want to ask
Was she going to pay my dental bill too?

Basilica in Blue

she screamed
skeleton key
torn free from
her breast
dead sentries chant
beneath the cold cement
pews stacked
windows slick with half-
evaporated lacquer
dust covers leave
no trace of the lives
they once led

i'm taking it with me
the story's for no one
to learn from
to learn to love
just a selfish deviance
directed toward
these fiends in shadow's length

stoop is crooked
stoop is bent
chandelier clear
of melted candle wicks
timpani plays the heartbeat
to the soul of the
blackened furnace

i'm taking this with me
i'll run to the doors
and i'll lock the doors
on my way out
what's meant to be kept in
will be kept within mine instead

Fuck You

you don't care what i have to say
because you don't care period
and i'm not going to stand up
and be your precious white knight
no matter how much moral support
i have behind me

see, you buried yourself
and you can't dig yourself out
and you want help, so much help
but all you've got in return is hate

death pumps heavy through your veins

see, i don't ask for any restitution
but i can't consider you anymore
for every little scrap i try to save myself
to simply survive the night

see, i'm not old
but i'm just as tired
and i'm tired of crying over
your already corpse still in spasms

if you're going to die
go die in some hole where
i won't have to hear it
and cheer up in your final complacency
knowing i was just as screwy as you
just in different places

Lola Castradora

No balls/If I have anything to say/Then I can't get behind it/
I want to say something striking/That's not laced with expletives/
I want to tell you I want you/but what's that worth

What's ever worth it

No guts/It goes from my stomach/Straight to my bowels/then
waits/Little oily pools of/gestated gesticulated waste/poking,
peering out of place

I wish I was a woman/So I could say these things/And someone
would care/But if I was a woman/I wouldn't say these things

So instead I sit
and watch you climb out the window
and fall five hundred stories
to concrete
and still laugh
when you hit
saying "Come on down.
the weather's great."
But I'm stuck
And the biggest part of me
Deep down, the only part that matters
Wants it this way
Because it's easier
And the sun isn't always yellow
But it isn't always burning my skin either

No balls to speak of/Maybe I should just get it over with/and
paint my nails/the brightest shade of pink available

I wish I were a woman/so I could kiss you/and we'd laugh about
it/then still be friends

You say things that make me feel so small
I want to crawl inside your head and steal it
I want to own you
But can never say it
Because it's this seeming impossibility
On the concrete path you're always landing

Movie Dialogue #19

“You know what? It’s not even that guy. Fuck that guy for sure… but it’s not even him. He’s just the asshole, the catalyst. That’s what they’re there for… But it’s not what kills me... What kills me is the old ladies that all look alike and all act alike and at one point you’re just like ‘oh, I just saw you a dozen times already today.' And they write their goddamn checks because they don’t grasp the concept of a debit card. ‘People that use credit cards don’t have money.’ A debit card is not a fucking credit card...! And I don’t even hate them. 90% of them are nice and smile and say thank you and say shit like ‘I really appreciate it’ because they think everyone complains to you. Everyone doesn’t. And it’s not just the old ladies, it’s the people that slide their cards wrong, or dig for change, or give you a thousand coupons, and they apologize, they are really truly fucking sorry about it too. But also it’s the fucking sports, it’s the fucking weather, it’s the bullshit... Oh and they’re nice too, usually... It’s just the job that’s a fucking joke. It’s the job. All it takes is the rare asshole to help you realize it. He’s the one that wakes you up. And you know what? I thank that guy. Because I kept telling everyone I was looking for something else, some beautiful job in the sky where I don’t have to deal with these boring fucking schmoes. But I’m not. I have nothing else and I don’t know how to get anything else. And you know what? I’ll probably just go home and cry and sleep and wait a week or two to get my ass out of bed and go look for an equivalent shit job. Because it’s all that I can get because it’s all that I’ve--- Anyway, thanks for being a friend here. But I doubt I’ll see you again. Nite.”

Pouting Whale

How can I be fighting windmills
When I'm not much fighting at all
I make up problems to go against
But not by your perceived intensity

A profession based on lies
That's what it is to write
And who the hell knows
It might be true for someone

Accusations of oblivion
From the oblivious
What can I do but roll my eyes
And play your token snob

At the very least I'm happy
I tricked you without even trying
So many times it should be
Habit by now

Creiddylad

If I ever...
If I EVER
said something
that proved conceit
or made you feel
patronized in some way
I didn't mean it
or I was joking

If I somehow
made a jab
at your expense
I was probably
running on no sleep
or wasted on no sleep
and meant it
more than anything

But let me tell you
What I'm thinking now
I'm thinking about
Humid nights
Pointless miles
Cotton candy
Pretty smiles
Pretty girls
barely out of high school
And remembering I'm free
And it's summer again

But I'll just stay in again
The fan pointed
directly on me

Till Close

When I get off at night
Whispering expletives to the wind
I can sometimes hear you
Not in the wind, per se
But right next to me on my way
to my car and in the passenger seat
I'll say something softly to myself
and know exactly what you'd tell me

"What do you think of monocles?"
"I think they're fucking GAY!"

I don't think of you sexually anymore
In fact that's part of it all I wish
Could be completely erased
You could just become a black sterile figure
And I'd still think of you all day

Is that kind of creepy?

Reminds me of when we first met
And I hated you then
How could I know a comment like
"the quiet thing is kinda creepy"
was a joke, with a face
that solemn
But you were like me
We hurt the ones we love
There's no way around it

Maybe I am creepy
But that's not my point
It's just that
I don't even know where you are anymore
You could even be dead
or married

Which one's scarier

What a Cotard

I don't know what I'm doing and I never will
Most hate to admit it but I say it with pride
Clueless, worthless, full of shitty ideas
And shit
But it's not that bad is it
No

Just sometimes

Too many talk to me as if they know what
they're doing, but I've come to realize
they're mostly just pretending
It just comes so much easier with
Confidence like Goliath's

David wouldn't know what he was doing
if he didn't have his god
And maybe that's my biggest problem
right there
But I kinda like not knowing what I'm doing
Because it leaves the future open
Like maybe I'll die and go to heaven
Maybe I won't die at all

Puer Aeternus

Move like a dead man
Swear like a dead man
You'll never say those words again
Well this is making sure

Here's your 6 feet
Let's go 6 feet more

Breathe like the stillborn
Ghost kicks in uterine wall
Post-natal spasms
In the cerebellum

I want to grow up and be a baby, mommy

Disguised as a threat
I don’t mean it
But it will happen

Here, there
Everywhere
Too many words
Have some with your yogurt
Just like fruit
With the pits in

(with a little help from a plotmeister)

Sangre Cuerpo

Where is the man in the box
“In the box.
That’s probably why you can’t see him.”
Where is the woman with
The repeating mouth
“You hate it but you still want
Your precious continuity.”

Get home and sleep forever
Wake up and walk forever
Get home and sleep forever
Wake up and talk forever
To no one forever
Forever

He stinks at the gills
Send him back down to where he belongs
The bottom of the ocean ain’t a place for a man
The bottom of the ocean ain’t a place for a fish man
The bottom, of the ocean, ain’t a place for, a fish, man

Where is the man in the box
“He got up and took a walk.
Forever.”

Ironing

Every guy that isn't me is an asshole
Every girl that doesn't want me is a bimbo

Forefather

The ectoplasm slowly
Seeps out of my eyes
Makes blankets of droplets
Where my mouth hangs wide
But a room void of sound
Can’t make me feel anymore dead
As the time ticks closer to the hour
It’s all the somnolence I’ll get

I’m alone
But who can blame anyone that avoids me

I’ve known many people
Some I have wronged
But none could prepare me for
One night so long
With them creeping the walls
And turning the pulpits
Into more than just guardrails
Guarding the culprits

We’ve all been burned alive
Some more than others
But who could have ever known
His would be so literal
When they ordered him, “Apologize!”
His mouth would not even open
Now mine won’t even close
And I’m left here hoping

For some bit of mercy
No matter how small
I was digging for the truth
But now I just want out

I’m alone
But I was the one who asked them to leave
Right now I only want to save myself
But I also can’t take anyone with me

So I apologize for him
And all he did you “wrong”
Because my life’s more appealing
Than eternity inside these walls

Dreams cost Money

Alone together

Easels on fan blades
Wall-splattered paint cans
We’ve got better things to do than get high
But the fumes get us anyway

In my daze I blurt out some phrase
That means nothing
But sounds like it does
And get on her bad side

She cuts the air
And we shrink into place
As I’m still thinkin’
Too many/too few women in my life

But it’s better than the alternative
Scraping the mulch off some prick’s taint
Sucking worms through straws
Spitting them out on the pavement
For the rain to finish off

I gotta say to her today
While the sun’s still out
And the light from the window
Still cuts through the grey

I love every inch of you

There’s a tiny little space between dimensions
Like the cleavage of atoms
The crack between her breasts
Warm and cozy and real and beautiful

We slept through the movie

There used to be friendship in friendship
Love used to have something to do with love
But now there are too many mysteries
Too many ironies
Too many discrepancies
To truly love anyone
It’s probably just my bad experience
But my own is all I’ve got
There are plenty of exceptions
But when it comes right down to it
I won’t let you take my sanity
With yours
Not for love
Not anymore

Sacrifice and little lies are the key
But now it's just gone too far
Wake me up
Please
wake me up

Endomorph

My hair is always falling out
But I've always got too much
I continue to hurt all over
Even with 8 hours or more
But I swear I think of you too
I swear

The man tells me time is an illusion
But how can I believe him at all
When I'm older, grayer, deader
With every passing moment
Sitting here thinking of you
But never saying hello
or asking how the kid's are

It's almost like I don't care

It's the things we believe that drive us
But I can't put myself wholly into any of it
Here he says there's only beauty
The other says there's only depth
Can't there be some sort of...
Sacrifice
No matter how small?

I've been dreaming bigger things lately
Not just something that would make a good book
or movie or song or album or painting
More along the lines of how I can help this
Beautiful, fucked up world
And if it even needs helping

But I swear I still think of you too
I do

This will all sound so stupid when I'm sober

You know how I know I'm not a woman?
Because I have a penis
You know how I know I'm not gay?
Because I'm not attracted to men
You know how I know I'm not you?
Because I'm not a blind-sided moron

I don't state my feelings
Then say they're a joke
When they're not

You know why I let you bother me?
Because there's nothing better to do tonight
You know why you bother me so much?
Because I've heard it all my life
And wiped it off my shoulder
or tried to
And now I'm just sick of it
So fucking sick I could hurt you
But if I hurt you then I'd be you
And there goes my whole point

What's the point of points?
To those that do not care to hear them
That do not hear them
Because they can't think outside of
Their own head

Think outside your head and you might see what's at stake

You could destroy it all with the right (wrong) words
There's a beauty in that, and there's a fear
A big huge fear that can destroy you if you let it
But what are you to the world?

Maybe you're right
Maybe this conceited way is the way to go
But how can you know?
You may be happy from ear to ear
But your soul, your fucking soul...
Does it no longer exist
or does it just slowly diminish...?

I don't cry for you
I hate you
I cry for us all
And I die
Alone
But with some ill-fated form of content
deep down

...Is that really so much better?
IS IT?

I don't know
I still do not know

Banshees and Bagpipes

There must be some ill-fated
Etched-out form of a scapegoat
In this world I write
Or maybe it’s just a culmination
Of a wide empty spectrum of
Too much time for nothing
The devil’s in the details
The details are vaguer by the minute

Tyrants sleep easy
But I can’t get a wink
These walls are thinner than
Sheet cake
You, slowly eating through to get me
I’m lonely, but not that lonely

Surprise me with a drink tonight
Mix it with all the things I done
A little dye for color
And syrup for flavor
A little ice, but let it melt
Making it slight and stale
Because that’s all I can handle
Right now

Hombre del señor
Con los planes imposibles
No significo traerte
realista donde vives
Pero apagar por favor tu stereo
por lo menos entre las horas
de 1 y 7
Quiero dormir

Shakespeare Allusion 8,001

Wait till you're tired enough
To wake up
More time tired
is less time wasted

Hold till there's something to say
To shut up
Save them all the
noise pollution

Don't you just wanna stand
in the middle of the street
and scream as loud as
you possibly can?
Who the hell does it harm
Besides your own apprehension
All you get is some dirty look
A couple of what-the-fucks
Then everyone's back to the way it was

"I'm so sick of them saying
'What have you got to lose?!'
What have I got to lose?!
My privacy!
My integrity!
My pride!
My sanity!
My tube-vision!
My dreamscape!
My head!"

What drives me insane
What drives you insane
What drives us insane is the way
We don't wanna be so insane
Is that normal?
Am I fucked?
What's my problem?
I must be losing it
HahahahaHAHAHAHA

...

Wait till you're in love enough
To break their hearts
They will not
see it coming

Wait till the moment you are close enough
To push it away
Like the seamless way all your contradictions
Form some sort of semblance
In this absolute reverse of the truth

Oh no,
just let me
sleep on it

They took 'fear' out of the dictionary today
I don't know if I should be happy or sad that
I no longer have a name for this thing here
That's very real, very scary, oh no

De la Galerie

You said to me
Vous m’avez dit
You said to me
Vous m’avez dit

Live for the best times
Live with the worst
You know it never ends
Until it all ends one day
Johnny Hallyday sticks his head
through my window and smiles

You said to me
Vous m’avez dit
You said to me
Vous m’avez dit

S'ils me jugent
après une nuit
dont le défaut
est celui?

You said to me
You said to me
I’ve danced here with you
Too long
Now I just wanna go home
And sleep
And wake-up to this impending
Hang-over de l'âme
Or something even more melodramatic
Than that

La lumiere est lumineux
Bais je me sens toujours
comme je pourrais
mourir
mort

Are you as sick as me?
Do you need some form of healing?
I get bored of this song
Before I’m even done
Singing

Dust

There’s a big wave
There’s a big train
There’s a big plane
Come to take me away

The light is big and bright
The light is big and black
The light is white
And it’s calling me
I’m sorry

This is not suicide
It’s more like
Remember all those times
We hit our heads
And it hurt so much
We’d wish we’d died

There’s a big wind
There’s a big cloud
There’s a big field
Doesn’t it just make you wanna run

I think you were the first
That knew exactly what I meant
We spend so much time
So much time
Just thinking about it
Then one day
It just comes
And that’s it

I think there’s enough
Dust in this house
To fill an urn
Or two or three

John Wayne Ain't No Fag

I’m not too smart ma
Not too smart
Just a dapper lead man
20 dollars change pocketed
Look at these teeth
They sparkle

Follow me through the red room
Pull me through the blue
Throw me into your bed
Turn it straight to vivace
con moto, allegro, attace
I’m gone ma

Ears ring, cold blood to head
Eyes stinging chlorine
Bubbles to the surface
Cement and brick handbag
Like style
Love gravity

I never meant to get so involved
With the bad bad men
I’m just not too smart ma
Shit just happens

I'm not one of them

Poetry is full of idiots
That want to write poetry
It is proper morons
Trying so goddamn hard
to refine English
I'm not a poet
I could never admit to that

Too often
They think of poetry
and yawn
And I don't blame them
but I'm too busy writing songs
without music
or prose with rhymes
to hear them

Poetry is full of bums
That think they're reaching
a higher plane
God stands solemn and belly laughs

Poetry is full of idiots
That think they have something
Worthwhile to say
What did I tell you
Couldn't if I tried

I just wanna get in the car and drive away
I just wanna get in the car and drive away
I know there’s nothin’ there
There never was
I just wan-na
drive away

I just wanna get in the car and drive away
I just wanna get in the car and drive away
I wonder just how far
2 thousand dollars will get me
I just wan-na
drive away

I know there’s nothin’ there
There never was

Songs Named After Women

You told me
Well hell, there’s no use
Spittin' flies
If you’re already bruised
To it

You told me
You’re just more in love
With a picture on a screen
If I know what you mean
No I didn't

You told me
You grew up saying mean things
But then you conformed
When you ran out of friends
Too bad we can't just
Love ourselves, huh

You told me
It’s so easy to fake
But I find it so hard
When it’s already hard to be
Myself, so wishy-washy

You told me
A lot of stupid things
But I remember every one
As if every man really wants
The dumb pretty ones
You almost made me a believer

You told me
If I didn’t grow up soon
I wouldn’t grow up at all
That’s the one time you were right
And we know it

You told me
To tell them
If they get the wrong impression
Good
If they judge me after one night
Whose fault is that?
If they already hate me
What is it I can do
To make them hate me
Even more?

At best
You made something last
At worst
You made me laugh
Then sob about it
When you weren't around

Robin Alexander 7

I finally finished my novella
I've had so much time now
Since Annie and Telly left
For good this time
I miss the kid so goddamn much
But it's for the best
The sadness inspires me
in some strange way
Although I don't think I'm
All too happy with the way
The story finally turned out either

But I'm glad to be done
With something
No matter how small
or worthless

Mom and dad I hope you're listening
Because these silhouettes that hang around me
Aren't too good of company
And I'm really sorry for whatever it was I did
To make you guys go so quick

Midnite Fool's Gold Rush

Black is the sky tonight
And my eyes will not stay open
But still I cannot sleep for the
Fear of dawn

The blood red of the neon
Screaming “open” through my eyelids
And they’re waiting there inside
Huddled together, just staring out at me
Now I know I can’t go in

Another feeling of déjà vu
As if all of the probabilities
Decided to repeat their selves tonight
And only tonight

A man in a hood approaches me
As I stand trying to focus on
Any particular features beneath the hood
But it’s just too dark or the air
Is just too humid
Most of what he says is
Completely unintelligible
But I make out some sort of
Sob story
I turn and start to walk away
But I feel him tugging
Tugging, tugging at me
“I DON’T HAVE ANY!”
I scream
Or at least I think I do
That’s what they all say

I’m nothing like the ones they compare me to
And I too compare you to those I once knew
As if attaching familiarity, somehow makes it easier

Oh but it does
We trick our brains daily

(this was originally three things that i just decided to join together. any disjointedness can be attributed to that; at least this time.)

For the Lack of Life

Here I lie in my dead zone
Do not even walk within five feet of its border
Just go home and dwell on it
You’ll forget in a fortnight or maybe less

I never wanted to shake you to the core
I only intended good, bright, beautiful things
It’s just that you weren’t there to tell me
When I found all but the light elsewhere

It’s funny if I lie here long enough
The grass will wilt and eventually die
Like no matter how hard I try
Things go sour all around me
It’s the simple act of being
And occupying a space
But still only truly seeing
Through the eyes of a watcher

Sometimes I feel like I’m from some other plane
And whoever it was that sent me here simply wiped out
All those wonderful memories
But they sometimes squeeze out disguised as
Part of the subconscious or imagination
Or something

I’m really not some sort of headcase
And me saying this is only letting you know that
I care too much what you think
But hell, we all are sometimes, aren’t we?
And reality can only get to be so boring
If you let it
Like I did

My little dead zone is comforting in a strange way
It’s just something I can count on, I suppose

Somebody Else's Fire

Her heart explodes
And blue paint smatters the walls
Completely covered
But too tired to attempt escape
I just lean my head back
To keep it down
But I still taste the acid
At the back of the throat
Too much candy for dinner
Not enough to last us till breakfast

But she’s already dead
Or she may as well be
And I’m just dangling
Full arms flung from
This makeshift lounge-chair
As the two-note samba
Plays freely for itself

Climb into the kitchen
And watch the sun go down
Blue paint dripping off the windowsill
Too many interesting-sounding diseases
To keep me fully immersed in
Wilted edged “research”
I read half for pleasure
I write for the same sport
As the man that shoots down the elk
From his back porch
Is it lying if you mean it
Is it murder if the victim
Is a lesser being

Drink a glass of tap water
And wonder why everyone
Complains about it
Tastes fine if you’re thirsty

Dream On (if yer able)

Just let me sit here and be tired please
No sleep allowed so just let me rest my eyes
They say “you’re young; you’ll survive”
But I’m just getting older

This time tomorrow I’m on clouds
Walking the river, traversing Downs
Oh no, it must all be witchcraft
Unless of course you’re Jesus
And you’re not

Just let me sit here and hate the space
I occupy so seamlessly
I do not slip through the fabric
In fact it aches when I press firm against it

I don’t want to be here
I don’t want to be here
But where’s the next best way out of reality
Minus the hard drugs
I don’t want to be here
I don’t want to be here
But I’ll get through it, so don’t
Feel sorry, god knows, I never have

Ha

Maybe I do want to feel your pain
It's not a thing like empathy

All these beautiful, thoughtful people
Sing of lovers becoming one
But that doesn’t happen
Sex is some moment of semblance
And the offspring is the semblance conceived
But I am still me
And you are still you
These better halves are
Nothing
But notions

Just let me sit here and die alone
The stupid things I say
Measured up to the ones I don’t
I wonder if
You even got the gist of
What I meant
Or meant to mean
At best

Maybe you can feel my pain
Not at all in empathy

Bleeding Scratchpost

I never belonged in any of your circles
And I never asked the “privilege”
I’m alone and yeah it’s lonely (no shit)
Tragedy eats a great big hole through my loins
And it’s my fault, oh joy, oh well

And I don’t hate any of you
You just bore me and I bore myself
But when the interesting type occasionally
Makes his way around, I just don’t know
What to do with myself
We’ve all got our own celebrities I guess
Mine just aren’t the prettiest ones in the room

He walks with a suit and tie
But inside he’s a broken man
An etched out, chiseled out idea of himself
Splashed against the headboard
He stands up completely straight
But his face is still in the ground
Not exactly looking at the past, no
But looking for something in nothing
Half-expecting, Half never-expecting a thing

I never wanted your understanding
Getting it just kind of scared the mystique
I never wanted your true acceptance
I just wanted an ounce of respect, as a human be-I-ing

Man named Hazel

You can rhyme
So you think you’re clever
But can you keep time
With the rest of the band
There’s no internal beat
Not even that of your heart
So what can you do
With the external but never
Substantial
Changes

Are you alive inside that box?
Because there’s no one out here to talk for you
Are you hearing me inside your shell?
Because there’s no saints, no angels
They just don’t care like you do about you

And there’s your proof
Why the sun is burning
Not for me or you
Just because it can
Here’s more untruths
For a man named Hazel
They'll open up the sky
If you want back in

Are you okay inside that tea oak chest?
Because there’s no key out here for you
Just a lock, chisel and maybe a hammer
But no one wants to waste the energy
To let you out anymore

Boy cries wolf; wolf eats boy; boy eats through large intestine; wolf cries; wolf dies; boy dies of poisoning; town rejoices.

Every little thing you say matters
We just won’t listen when you are digging
In the dirt for a sign of light
It does not burn through soil
That’s why they douse flame with it

Are you on the outside of the inside
Of the one
I’ve got no friends
And nowhere to run
When they cut you
Did you bleed?
Or was it so dry
Like the dehydrated
Diabetic

They gave me a drink
It was called cryo chai
And I drank it
The sun’s energy cooled off and melted
And now we’re believing
All of the scalpels of doctors
And doctors with analgesics
Treating us like sweet pets
Treating us with sweet treats
From the sugarlick

Please refrain from
That sort of language
See, these kids don’t need to
Hear things like that
I guess all that matters is
The age you get dulled
Because it’s all gonna happen
Whether you are 42
Or 12

Suck on your diet shakes
Rattle snakes eating lo-carb cakes
As long as its understood and consensual
Everything must go
Around and come back
To the place they dug
In the soil
Where light shines through
Out the month
And in the navel
Orange, brown and rotten
Words like a whip
Crack
Everybody stops and drops
Every late bird caught
Sucking up worms
Through the holes in the floor
Bored

(Pretentious artsy crap? Maybe. Do I care so much? Eh...)

Whether by the Gleaning Sun

I took the train
Because I didn’t want to be seen
Stand around in the heat
Of a hundred’s breathing
It doesn’t bother me
Not as much

And I felt every second
The wound pumping
Like the gold watch I took off
And gave to the bum

No cashback
I already asked
That’s what you get for playing the role of
The nice guy, yeah

Todd playing
The voice of god
On the radio
And actually making sense
Out of it
Who knows how long to
The end of the world
But the coast I know
Is only miles away
Maybe the world’s flatter
Than they say

I’ve been alive before
But none like today
So many waves
Heading in their own directions
What now after finish
Back to start?

We could not take advantage of
The Samaritan
His views do not stem from
Naiveté

Teh Marz Voltraz Newszz

28 discs. 28 songs total, each 78 minutes long. 28,000 members, including small country of Sri Lanka. Omar killed Ikey by accident and says he's sorry. Coming out next week! Cover art:

Death and/or Murder in Fiction

I watched that movie again
I don't know why
It kinda bothers me
Probably because she hadn't seen it
And it really isn't too bad

She sat on my lap the whole time
Cupping her eyes

It has all these psychedelic flourishes
That could have been left out
And people would still love it
But there's a lot of violence
Understatement I suppose
But it almost succeeds in what it's saying
I think
The glorification in notoriety
Is ridiculous and only perpetuates
Even more murder
or ill-doings

But at the same time it almost bored me
Someone dying every 5 minutes
I've never been so bored with death
All these movies succeed in is---
Besides an hour+ of entertainment---
Cementing my stand on death in art
Or fiction or entertainment
About as strong as my stance
For it in the real world
I want to treat my characters
Even the tiny ones
Like they matter

Somebody might say maybe I've
got issues myself
That some kind of God-ache
I might feel from killing one
of my creatures
Is fucked in itself
I can't honestly disagree

But yeah, the next murder
(if there is one)
Will need a sprawling arc
And his/her murderer will pay dearly

Monsterisms

Tell me if you heard this one
Man walks into barbershop
Asks for a little off the top
Breaks into broadway vaudevillian dance routine
Barber gives him the regular shave
Knowing full well dead hair doesn’t grow again

Tell me if you knew this one too
Nobody told me the sky was blue
They just told me about the color blue
Then I looked at the sky
And I wonder if I were partly colorblind
If it would be grey or purple
And then I’d never know what blue was
The blind man scoffs
And says the imagination is far superior
But I wonder if he knows what blue
Looks like in his mind, if he never saw it
And how one could describe it in a sentence
So he might understand it

God’s just playing an advanced version
Of Sim City on his PC
He doesn’t have a laptop
Because he never leaves his room in heaven

Lenina

You’re so laissez-faire
And it’s annoying
You just don’t care
And it’s boring
The way you’re bored
All the time

I wonder if it’s a life worth living
With a passive view
But still an attitude
Toward, about, beginning with
Nothing
Did anybody ever tell you
That’s where it returns to?

I don’t mean to preach
When I know I can’t do much better
But you’re just so full of things
That begin and end in

Goodnight

Kinda like the Moon

Everybody that lives around here is so goddamn nice
But then that only accomplishes in accentuating the lies
But I’m fine with it, I already know enough of the truth
So much so I can recite it backwards blindfolded in my sleep
Stranded on the moon

I don’t always believe in the truth
But the truth is, it still exists
Whether I stop to stare at it
Or pretend to ignore it on my way
Home from the moon

I do always believe in the good
Whatever that is which we’ve disagreed on
Yours holds no less worth, I’m sure of it
But in my eyes, well yeah, it seems pointless
Kinda like the moon

All this artificial light
Gives me enough to ponder

Old Man '09

Music used to be good
Like before ‘04
And earlier
Now it’s just some guy
Writing songs
Where’s the superstars

Love used to be great
Like back in 98
Like when playing the field
Was considered wrong
And the word actually had
Some meaning
Besides “ahh, fuck it”

Me, I was never any good
Not strong and not getting stronger
I’m just some fiddling asshole
With no responsibilities
Besides jacking off
And typing a good page
If that

If at all

The rain used to taste like water
Now it’s acid and dust on my tongue
God used to get respect
Now he’s just getting disproved
By 16 year olds on youtube

Now I don’t know if I believe all that
I don’t know if I believe in me or you
See, I’m just fiddling with my asshole
Jacking off on a good page or two

If that

Duct-tape my back to the world and spin it like a top

Fish eat fish
Naked pigeon
Fucks dove
Ecto queen
Stomps on my heart
Shits in my cereal

Do forgive me
For being so forward
But what’s with the ginormous
Chip on your shoulder?

Blazing chariot
Carries the sun
Sun waits lazily
For the moon to come
Sweeping up all
The confetti

Death eats life
Life beats death
Sharpest eyes
Dressed as claws
Rip through mind
And flesh

She’ll stay my queen
She’ll show me mercy
When I least expect it

Give my condolences to last week

I talk of proof
And morality
But I’m really just as bad
As you are
I have little words to comfort me
But little words don’t last so long
And at the end of the world
We’re not so strong
To hold in all the darkness
That resides in the truth

Could it be so bad?
Could it be much worse?

I knew what I wanted to say
But I didn’t say it
The line between action and intention
Is a bloody thick one
I’m sorry you were the one
That had to pay the price to hell
And back

It took a long time to find you
It took seconds to let you go

I speak of youth
As if I’m already dead and old
Always the late bloomer
Or maybe just with different priorities
Whatever the means
It does not matter
In your eyes
I no longer have worth
Not even a slight twinkle

Could it really be so great?
I just wanted it to be a bit better
But some things aren’t meant to make sense
The idiots we are, we still look

Not too loud, she said

I listen
To the world when it does not speak
Its turning in its sleep
Its skitter-shot heartbeat
And wonder if it’s all supposed to be
Just as funny as it seems
To a drunk

And I feel strange
When she tells me she too
Was but a babe once
A child with stupid fantasies
That just got crushed
Almost as soon as the bust
Grew up
And out

Who can tell you anymore
Whether to laugh or not
You’ve just got to find it there yourself

I just listen
To the stars that do not speak
As they give off the same heat
The same light

Haircap

i'm a little person that believes in you
you're a little person that believes in you
two little people that believe in you
two little people can do a lot

i've taken trains
i've been on aeroplanes
i've seen a lot there is to see
if only my brain says, yes
and it's looking good from here kid
it's looking swell as hell

i'm a little person and i see big
on the outside of my head it probably seems stupid
but it looks huge inside here to me
every thing i do now just feels like a walk in place
i just want to see your love-stuck shiny face
but i'm too stuck on mine

you're a little person but you believe in big things
but big things are too big big things take too much work
and time and money and love
my head hurts, maybe big things aren't so big
speaking relative
the earth isnt
the sun isnt
i isnt
this crooked face you look at from the outside of your dirty window
isnt

but my brain is
and i don't have to unscrew my haircap
to prove it

Orange

“Who do you think you are?! You’re just some fucking punk!”
“Orange.”
“Orange? Is that your name?!”
“Yes.”
“Your mother called you that?”
“Yes.”
“She must be a sadistic wench.”
“She can be.”
“Are you going to give me my bottle cap collection back?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I want to keep it.”
“If you keep it, it can be considered stealing and I can press charges.”
“Try me.”
“Fuck you, you prick!”
“Call the cops. Call a lawyer. Do it you pussy.”
“You really want to turn this into something?! Fuck you for real.”
“I heard you the first time.”
“How about this?”
“What?”
“Howzabout I just beat the living shit out of you till you say uncle.”
“Uncle.”
“Fuck you.”
“Yeah, I said I got it the first time.”

On the Spot

i wanted to say something profound
but i caught myself
they already said everything profound
and in so many ways, all had sufficed
the only brilliance left was in lies
but who wants to listen to lies?
i think an unconscious part of us
absolutely loves the sweet ones
but i don't like any of them, ever
not even during that split second
reaction time before thinking

so instead, i got behind the podium
and gave it honest and short
no long words or wordplay
just a jab
the brilliance in simplicity
always had amazed me
somehow it didn't them

some of them were disgusted
some of them booed
some of them coughed
and glanced at their watches
others clapped out of habit
a small din that faded quicker
than it had come

i'd like to say i didn't care
or i don't care
but i couldn't help it
had those five words come out wrong?
had i stressed the wrong syllables?
did i announce it with an unseemingly
sarcastic tinge?
i didn't know
maybe my opinion was flat out wrong
maybe it was just an opinion
just an opinion?
an unpopular one at that
i still don't know

and i thought about that saying
people like these days:
"liberty means the right to say things
that nobody wants to hear"
and in ways it was against all i stood for
but ultimately
it made complete sense

the grandmaster gave me a sympathetic
pat on the back as i walked off the stage
disillusioned but no longer doubting
no more one-liners, i thought
more speeches

Counterproduct

Some of us have the talent
Some of us, just perfectionists
Some of us just dwindle
Some of us dwell on it

Some of the time
I can reach inside
And pull out something
Beautiful and flawed
Most of the time
I forget

Bring me past it
This little room
Take me away
From this claustrophobic
House called home
Take me past it
The midnight parks
Where bums sit
Sleeping and coughing
Up today’s catch
Help me pass it all away

I am not begging
I am not afraid of
Doing these things
For myself
It's just that
Pride aside
I need help
I need a crutch
Like everyone else
And if it can't be God
Then what?

I am so tired
Of putting so little in
And getting so little out
And doubting it
With good reason

Just because you’re an artist
You think you shouldn’t have to
Know the meaning of hard
Hard work
Grow up and hit the road
No one wants to buy
What you want to do
Even if money is not
What it is you want
What do you want?
Happiness
But how do you get that?
I don’t know
How does one go about knowing?

theysaythatangelsaresobeautifulbuticantimagine
anythingmorebeautifulthanyousoyoumustbeanangel
orangelsdontexisttheidiotromanticinsidemesays
thatitstheformerbutthespiritlessrealistsaysits
thelatterbutthebiggestpartinmesaysheyidunno
goodnightbabytomorrowwellgetyourwingsclipped.

the inverse connotation of a popular passage is not overtly clever

she's electric
spit and shit shine
on her blouse
she hangs off
the side of the building
like some gaudy
misplaced sign

she's electric
meticulous in her
mismatched-ness
the sun sees her
but she doesn't
see it
cars race to smash
into her
spine and shatter
happy misery

she's electric
she txt messages
all the pricks that
said she'd never
make it
and proves them right
and sets up passing
meetings to
shove their faces
in it

the gas station
doesn't sell condoms
or alcoholic
beverages
so she stands at
the side of the
building and waits
for someone she
knew in highschool
or something like
that

she's electric
she shoots and misses
intentionally

Stay out of my house

My house is a place
Where everything's good
And the truth doesn't matter
Even these ghosts in my walls...
Wait, what ghosts?

My house is a standstill
For all confrontation
And opening for an endless
Concave wave of repetition
It is my haven
From the world at large

In my study, at my desk
I sit and read all the books
I always wanted to
And stare out the windows
At the little people
On the foggy sidewalks
And no one ever raps
Upon my door
Or disturbs my rest
Not a dog barking
Not a car's horn blaring
Not a single soul

My house is my world
So be careful of
What you bring into it
A part of me knows
None of it will harm me
But why take the chance

Stay out of my house

(One big, yet very unoriginal metaphor for "I don't want to become my dad.")

72 Nights

Everything looks good
Feels good tonight
Even these annoying
Sixteen year olds
Seem to make me smile

What the hell’s wrong with me?

The hill seemed so tall
When I was tired
Now it’s just what
It always was
A mound

What the hell?

Lily
I do feel safe
Life has not blown
A great big hole through me
And suddenly the one I had
Seems a little smaller
So miniscule
Not exactly empty
But adequate
or more

Somewhere out there
They’re having fun
I could be having fun too
And I think I will
At least for
Tonight

Fifty-Three Days

Wasted day
Waste away
Where the wind ends
And the bodies begin
Rolling down the stream

Why should I love you?
If it’s a lie

River red
Rain is red
Where the clouds part
There is no sun
Just the eye
Only the eye

Cuts me in half
Sews me back together
Sends me down the river

Wastrels cling
To material things
But I cling to
The river bed

I cling
To dear life

These Bones

The only thing that keeps me
From falling to the floor
Is these bones
And gravity will get me
Eventually
Regardless

The sky was once beautiful
It still is
It’s just that the stimulus
Wore thin
I wish I could find mere joy
In repetition
But I wasn’t born with a brain
Like that

So just let me melt
Into the floor here
And if that’s not good enough
I could just sink
Through the cracks in the surface
Soak up the dirt like an
Amoebic sponge
Meet the worms
Make new friends
Lose all the old ones
Even the good ones

The only thing that keeps me
From falling to the floor
Is your tiny words
That mean nothing to the world
But mean the world to me
To pass them on
Not out of pity
Nor to kill time
But because you want to hear
What I might reply
Some of what I say
May be meaningful
Most of it stupid
All I may get is laughter
But it’s worth it

Forty Obelisks

Screams in the Mojave
Feet creak and
Crash through sand
Big yellow machine
In the firmament
Leaves me sweating
Flies

Mama gave me
Bread and water
Papa gave me
The will to survive

Held by brick and
Mortar shavings
Excelsior survives
Blue sky engine
Programs clouds
Resumes process
Cries loud, thick
Drops
Puddles to oases

L’enfant du monde
Pointed on, mocked
Spent and wasted
Naked
Blood and yoke
Soaked to sheets
Miscarriage of the
Mind

Heart and fixture
Forced hard labor
Ticks on its own
Time
Eat, suck, taste
Touch, lust
Cannibalism
On primetime

Mama gave me a
Fish
Papa gave me a fishing
Pole

(I'm trying to take this "artsy, ambiguous" angle a little more seriously. This isn't quite where I want it to be, but it's closer.)

Somnambulance Pt 6

Lights poured into my eyes
“Where am I?!”
I thought I shouted
A man and a woman
Came into focus
The man was tall
With brown hair and glasses
The woman was average
With fair hair
She was attractive
They both wore white suits

“Hey, he’s awake!”
The man shouted
I asked my question again
“Where am I?”
I tried to lift my head
But my fatigue
Weighed a ton or more
I couldn’t move
Even if I wanted to

I decided I didn’t want to

“You’re in the General,” The man said
“General?” I barely got out
“Hospital,” the woman finished
“Oh, dammit… my head.”
“You got struck by lightning
And were in a car accident,”
The woman explained.
“Oh.”
“It’s a very rare occurrence.
That’s why we were studying you
To better understand the condition.”
“Ah. I don’t care. Let me sleep.”
“Okay.”
They left the room
And I was alone
I fell asleep within seconds

Screaming woke me up
I forced myself up out of the bed
Still stiff, but well enough
The room was inverted
“What the fuck?”
I wondered if it was an effect
Of the lightning strike
I stumbled to the door
And walked out into the hall
The place was on fire
Bodies were all over the floor
Most of them were torn and ravaged
Down the hall, I could see
Two men in black with sunglasses
And a huge beast behind them
Also perfectly black
…Grendel?
The two men walking toward
Held pistols in the air
Before I could think
The beast leapt at me

I woke up
The man and woman doctor
Looked down at me again
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just a nightmare,”
I said

Or was it?

For the Man that Hates Everything

The crooked hand and the bee
Shakes through the broken glass
Of the window
Like the mutt out of the rain
Smelly, cut, jagged, wet

I know what I like
And I know what I don’t
And if you ask me
I will tell you exactly that
Then call me prick
I don’t care
Or I don’t want to

Musk-soaked covers
Atop minuscule-y heightened beds
The ticks and fleas will be at ease
If they can be mislead as we are

What a great feeling
To hate everything
And not even know it

There’s nothing here
There never was
Quit dwelling on it
(I’m really not)
(It’s just that it’s been so long)
(This pain has developed into
Second nature)
(I don’t know what to say anymore
When I finally feel no pain)

So just complain

A beautiful gift
For someone else I suppose
Oh, it’s not bad, I’m sorry
Just what exactly do you get
For the man that hates everything?
It’s the thought that counts

(Based around a dream and certain things people like to assume about me. It doesn't flow very well.)

Snibe

Why should I stay humble
I don’t need a god, I just want one
My body may be small
But my mind is infinite

Cleanse me
Break open my skin
And heal me
I want to feel something else
Besides futility
And humiliation

But I truly do love myself
Most of the time anyway
And when the big guy comes
And tells me “how it is”
I just cringe and bear it
Not even thinking
Why I have to again

Even when the shade clears
The shade’s still there
My silhouette on blacktop
Preaching pride and machismo
Over love and humility

And why should I be so humble??
I’m not that good
But I’m better than them
And yet they’re feeding me scraps
Like I’m the farmer’s pig

I wanted to grab you but you fell beneath the chairs
Re-emerging as a black dead thing
You laughed wholeheartedly
Breaking my skin
You got inside of me
And gave me this brief fabrication
Of having been saved

But I wasn’t saved
And I’m starting to wonder if I ever can
It was just another bad idea
Disguised as good
As they’ve always been

Somnambulance Pt 5

It was just another bad idea
She shut the door in my face
So I sat and sulked on the porch
Until the sky turned orange

The car door creaked loudly
As I pried it free from the ice
Feeling the bitter chill
Of the steering wheel
I reached into the glove compartment
The gloves were made of
Cheap wool, and wore off
On my shirt and jacket
But they did their job
Now I was just hoping
I could still do mine

As I took the street up
A sudden splash of rain
Started hitting the car
Hardly a cloud in sight
But it was going
Flipping on the wipers
I continued, trying not to
Let it bother me
I had other things to worry about

I wasn’t a block from the house
Before I noticed a black van
Tailing me discreetly
I’d grown to know better though
And picked up my speed
Albeit not enough to alert them
Gradually, I raised to 50 and then 60
Not to my surprise, they did likewise

Before I knew it, we were on the highway
I picked up the speed considerably
And that’s when they made their move
Swapping lanes to get on my right side

The rain was now pouring too hard
For me to get a glimpse of my assailants
In the window, but it didn’t matter
I knew who it was

With a split second stroke
I swerved the front of the car
Violently into the side of theirs
I heard thunder crack outside

Pushing ahead, I looked back
To see them slammed into the breakers
On the side of the road
The two front doors were open
Nobody was inside
They’d fled before I could get an eyeful
I increased my speed

It wasn’t 5 minutes later
I continued to hear thunder
And witness lightning
It sounded dangerously close
I considered if I could drive through the storm
If I just stuck to the pedal
But before that thought could even pass
I heard a murderously loud thunder clap
And felt a tremendous jolt of pain
Then blacked out