Thursday, September 9, 2004

system of a down

god bless america/ bless god, america/ america, god bless/ bless america, god/ america, god bless/ distortion distortion distortion/ pro-choice abortion/ malcontent malcontent malcontent/ how much have we spent?/ money pays the rent/ money pays the rent, money pays the rent/ capitalism with a capital C/ money is the american’s blood/ and power’s the heart/ and god bless america/ bless god, america/ america, god bless/ bless america, god/ america, god bless/ here we go/ god can you hear?/ or are you even here?/ well let’s remove the stiches from our eyes/ let’s take the IVs out of our veins/ let’s cut open our brainwashed brains—

well in god we trust/ jesus christ we must to have given up so much/ the big companies tower as monsters/ owned by bigwigs who are the few/ these bushwhackers are the only ones who matter/ they have the money/ money=power/ power=importance/ it’s the system of a down—the system of a down/ this world is optimistic/ this world isn’t simplistic/ my mouth’s held closed with stiches/ my eye twitches/ money is all that matters here/ money is all that matters here. . .

it’s all about how much you own/ about the riches you show/ about material possesions/ well have you even thought that the best thing that can be bought is free/ that’s what this country’s based on/ freedom, the pursuit of happiness/ is that really working all your life?/ is that what happiness is?/ is that freedom right there, while someone else out there/ some bigwig has it made?/ some jerk, some asshole who thinks he’s better than you?/ well you know i never want to be rich/ because inside i’ve got more than anyone can ever have—i have my mind/ my mind is better than anything this world can sell/ i’d hope you agree/ if i could, i’d show you all i can/ but here i am/ with these words/ do you hear them?/ because god isn’t here/ god isn’t here. . .

well in god we trust/ well at least that’s what it says on the money/ what if i don’t trust in god?/ what if money doesn’t matter to me?/ well you see, i don’t want a house/ i don’t want a car that’s worth more than what i can pay/ i don’t want a credit card so i can get in debt/ i want to be free/ well you see i don’t need these things/ all i need is myself/ i can get along/ well don’t you see?/ this world’s just one big distraction/ i don’t know about you, but i’m going to go live/ i might have to work a menial job/ and i’ll do it because i have to/ but i will be free/ this world won’t get me caught in what it does/ well on the outside this world does look fine/ but if you look deeper in you’ll see it’s not/ it’s full of things wrong/ but they’re not for me to fix. . .

when i die, bury me in the bank/ burn all my money, then scatter the ashes all over in the sky/ well have my funeral at the bank/ keep me away from the church/ there is no god as far as i know/ i’m not a christian, your usual american/ i don’t live to die/ i live to live/ to me heaven’s right here/ this is as good as it gets/ this is as good as it gets/ i have no regrets/ i don’t look to some lord or savior/ jesus today is just a pawn/ he would’ve never had what’s here/ he didn’t die to have it the way it is/ i believe in jesus for who he is/ not what he promises/ i believe in life for what it is/ not what is after/ too few people know what it is to live/ i’d like to give them all the power to see. . .but i’m just a lackey/ the only ones who matter are the bigwigs—

in this country, it’s been said that all men are created equal/ look at blacks/ look at homosexuals/ look at the native americans/ look at the mexicans/ look at the women/ look at all the people who’ve ever suffered/ is every man really created equal?/ i’d like to know, i’d like to know/ americans need to see. . .need to open their eyes. . .there is a need for change/ this country’s still too much the same/ there is nothing progressive about this/ we’re still stuck in the way we are/ we’re still stuck in the way we are. . .

the bank is my church/ the money is my god/ my assets are my material possesions/ i’m in debt/ i pay for things in small payments since i cannot own them alone/ i am an american/ one of the middle class/ i keep this country alive, while the rich get richer/ the poor get poorer/ i work till i feel i’m about to die/ day in day out, it’s always the same, there’s never a stop in the time/ it’s like a prison, and money’s the only way to loose the lock on the door/ i just don’t know anymore/ in god we trust/ i’m a slave, i’m a slave/ someone please take me out of this misery. . .

fester fester fester/ we all crowd around/ fester fester fester/ this is the system of a down.

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I think this is the best poem I ever wrote.

The Child
Knock-knock
. . .there is a knock upon my door
i lie in bed, tired (for i am sore to it all)
--who could it be, this time?

KNOCK KNOCK
. . .can you not go away? (for i am sore to it all)
i yell, “GO AWAY” (with tired gesture, flailing of wrist)
but--still you persist
PeRsIsT,and i. want. to just. shut my eyes (for in sleep
there is a better life). . .and my patience is mounting
[i heard once say that patience is a virtue, but to me
it is like a circling vulture, never getting a meal]
. . .and my patience. . .is mount-i-n-. . .g—

KNOCK, KNOCK KNOCK, KNOCK
DINGLE DINGLE DONG
KNOCK, KNOCK KNOCK, KNOCK
DINGLE DINGLE DiNgLe DONG
(sounds like one crazy bird’s gone twittering in song)

yes, yes, i will come (even though i am sore to it all)
why must you PERSIST?
HOW YOU knock THE DOOR,
and HOW YOU CHIME THE DOORBELL
yes yes, i will come (but first, i rustle around the hall,
come to my closet—with scattered things—and find what it is
i need)

shotgun now in hand, i come to the door, yelling politely,
“I AM COMING, WHOEVER IT IS AT THE DOOR,
THERE IS NO NEED TO KNOCK—OR, FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE—
CHIME ANYMORE”

then i come (to the door)
tired eyes (bloodvesseled red)
. .. and only boxers (black and blue),
and I’VE GOT A GUN JUST FOR YOU—(for you)

hand on knob, palm feels in, the turn of the wrist (like a lock to key),
i wonder what it is i’ll see (and ready my shotgun)

and OH would you fucking believe—
there, standing, is me (only younger, a child stares me back)
i ask, “what can i do for you?” and put my shotgun to my side (for children
are innocent and do not deserve to die)

little voice answers, too small, “hello, how are you,” (then OH that smirk which appears)
the way his face looks—as it snarls to a smirk.

“how am i?” i spit
“how am i?”

“yes, how are you,”—and, those eyes (i know those eyes,
those spheres, those pupils, those circles,)
i know where they spin.
[i’ve heard say the earth is round, but i think it is quite flat,
for it is round to me, but the way things are
have smashed it,have crushed it down]

“i am quite fine, thank you,” i loop,
like the tying of shoes.
my voice reeking sarcasm.
[and i’ve heard say sarcasm is rude, but i just think
that sarcasm is a chasm deep with depth, clever as can be,
and most don’t see it, they fall into its bowels]

“that’s good,” chirps my little self,
putting it all on the shelf. (for chaos is a mess
needing cleaning done best.)
“so, i should get to the point, shouldn’t i?”

“yes,” says i the vulture, patience missing (in dismay)
as i circle my prey, wanting a morsel.

“i just wanted to see you again,” he says (the younger me)
“to let you know—I’VE GOTTA DIE—“ he screams (the child,
innocent, not deserving to die)
he moves in on me like time,
wraps his hand around my hand,
tick tocks, falters me, pendulums my shotgun,
gets ready to pull the trigger, and he derides (ha ha ha),
it is a sad laugh.
it’s the chime of midnight, the end of this day.

“NO—“ i yell, try to rend it from his hands.
“WHY’RE YOU DOING THIS?” and i can’t
get it from his hands.

“you know why,” he says, voice low but powerful.
“you know why. . .”
“. . .i’ve gotta—“ cock, click clack,
hand going deeper in on trigger—
“—die because—“ hand even more
on trigger, click clack—“—it’s my time. . .”
B -- A -- N -- G. . .

[and i’ve heard say, there’s some moments
that slow down time, make it go to a crawl,
arms digging, eyes wide, like a baby learning to walk.]
i could see the bullets, driving on, from the muzzle,
the proboscis of the shotgun,
(it was sharp to my ears,
punctured into my ear drum)
i could see the bullets pass into his head. some exit.

he crumpled to the ground (like paper crumpled in a hand,
creased and so white and so gone)
i caught him, yelled hysterically, “I HATE YOU!”
”I HATE—“ and, with eyes piercing to the sky,
(and dropping him like a rag doll) and hands pressed to the sky,
trying to touch and bruise, “—EVERYTHING!”

i could feel the pain
some part of me had died (for i am sore)
and i began crying (the tears were red, stained my cheeks)
i went down on the ground, touched the younger me
on the face, brushed back the hair.
(and putting my hand on his heart, i heard the battle
going on. the futile battle.)

“I. . .I—“ he tried to speak,
words like a cold dish in a waiter’s hands,
going back from where it came (revenge is a dish best served cold).
i promised myself i’d find that dish someday.
“. . ..I. . .love. . .y . .o. . .u. . .m. . .o. . .r. . . . .e
t. . .h. . . . . .a . . . . . .n . . . .any. . .an. . .y . . . .on. . .on. . .
e. . .. .el. . .el. . .el . . .s—“
his eyes twitched (like a dead spider, like the dead cogs of time)
his hands fought up at me, trying to touch what cannot be touched anymore.
his voice cracked (like the cracks in the cement, the broken cracks and lines)
he died.



[and i’ve heard say that love is a flower, and i’ve heard say
love is rain showers, and i’ve heard say love is a beautiful woman,
and i’ve heard say love is a kiss, and i’ve heard say love is a fist,
and i’ve heard say love is something wonderful, beautiful, good and grand,
and i don’t think love exists.
and i’ve heard say love can keep you going, and i’ve heard say
the meaning of life is love, and i’ve heard say it’s worth it to die for love,
and i’ve heard say love is jesus christ, and i’ve heard say
love is all around us, and i’ve heard say love is care,
and i don’t think love exists.
love dies (a struggling thing with wilting sides, an undulating thing that twitches and
dies.)
and i believe what there is of love
is arranged in the part of us that is a child.]

i felt his heart, as it ended, terminated, went away. (sailed to its bay)
and it was a cardiac arrest. (the machine keeping track of his life
would go beep, beep, beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep)
the chains would go around his arms,
the bars go in his cage. (and still i would stand here, how strange.)
the cardiac arrest, and someone
would be reading him his miranda rights.
(“you have the right to remain silent, the right to an attorney. . .")
if death is anything, it is a judge at a trial slamming its gavel down.

i have not been sleeping well
my dreams are full (a wishing well)
and everything, i fear, that is good
must die. (let me just hold you
in my arms before that time)
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Wednesday, September 8, 2004

The Beginning, The End

the beginning/ preface to the end/ that epilogue’s got a long while till it spends

the beginning/ a man in a woman’s arms/ no harm/ simple reaction/ simple attraction/ desire / thirsting passion/ then the ring came from the case/ then she looked at him unbelief on her face/ it was no time to be blasé/ this was marriage/ she said yes to him/ she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him/ that was how it was to begin/

in the church/ family all around/ the ceremony’s going on/ when those words are asked she said them through her lips/ only if she knew the words were wrong/ but she could not know/ she went on with the show/

“i do” said the wife/ “i do” said the husband/ the grapes of lust picked these two from the vine/ you may kiss the bride

the grapes of lust picked these two from the vine/ you may kiss the bride

he was young/ she was younger/ he was older/ she was pretty/ he was strong/ she was graceful/ he was like stone/ she was taken by him/ he was taken by her/ she was in love/ he was in love/ she was lovely to him/ he was lovely to her/ they were in love/ and that one night of passion cannot be undone/ they were so young/ believed that in each other there was a thing called love/ how insipid they were/

i was born because they fucked/ all of us were/ in each case a different circumstance/ some were raped/ some were born during marriage/ some not/ we came here/ to this world/ no one asked us what we thought/ no one asked us if we wanted to be born/ we were born and that was it

they divorced when i was three/ i do not remember it/ it escapes me/ and i no longer know my true father/

this was only the beginning/ when i was born/ i don’t know where i’m going now/ just here for the ride/ and sometimes this ride is sad/ and sometimes it’s full of rain/ and sometimes i want to stop and blame/ i look at the sun in shame/ it all seems gray/ it’s a wonder what there’s to gain/ but all you can do is hang/ go on some way/

the beginning/ preface to the end/ that epilogue’s got a long while till it spends/ and when i die let it end

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Tuesday, September 7, 2004

Weeds

I
we are weeds
growing in
the deep-rooted soil
of our own

II
the seeds scatter
the breath carries them away
white fluff
into the air

where they’ll land
i don’t know

III
the growth
the seed
all the need

we are weeds

IV
the sleek little stem,
the open warm flower
that root deep inside
green with envy
yellow like the sun
with petals like an open palm
leaves wrinkled, lined
the soil holds it
the roots are twisted and gnarled

this weed is ripened for the picking

will
you
give in?

V
wilting
time touches
fate hunches
down on shoulders
and knees
to admonish decay

VI
withering
slow death comes
the roots are giving away
thining out, loosening grip

winter the coldest bitch
coming like a frothy reaper

VII
weed out the good ones
get out the bad ones
numb them all away
temperature dropping,
temperament stopping,
heads falling into each other
lamenting away
the frost the cold
old, old, old
dismay

VIII
we are weeds
we die in seasons
we root deep inside
nothing to find

from the womb
to the tomb
ruin in time

IX
pick me
kiss me
pucker
sucker
touch
feel
know
together
forever
weeding in
rooting down
growing
photosynthesis
oxygen
carbon dioxide
lungs

pick the petals
one-by-one

she loves me
not
she loves me
she loves me
not
she loves me

take me
care
ripping off confines
the bars the chains
our bodies our names
forgetting
in the moment
escape

clothes come off
hands go

all this life
for nothing
for this moment

inside me
i can hear the baby moan now

another weed
flickering in the open sun
the wind gently stroking it around
it goes back and forth
in this desolate ground

this earth is a death ground
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Monday, September 6, 2004

in the back of the white truck

sitting in the white truck
in the back
just out of work
just out of time

he's sitting beside me
we talk about nothing
i look to the sky
i think i see something
i think it's all passing by

his cell phone rings
"it's my girlfriend."
and i tell him to tell her
"tomorrow we're going to fuck."

he says it
and says, "why?"
and says, "bye."

"who was it?" i ask


"my girlfriend's cousin."

"they're coming here?"

"yeah."

he tells me
the cousin who called
was her second cousin
and he wants her
he says, "it's still wrong."

i say, "it's still incest."
and we agree with each other.

they come
in a car
with paint coming off
the metal naked

the cousin comes out
but she stays in the car

he comes over and hits chris

chris says, "do you see her?"
but i can't

she drives over
and closer
"isn't she cute?"

she's right by us
by the back of the truck

"i love yoo" he says
"i love yoo."
she doesn't say anything

he's in there
with her now
and i see the amber eye
of his cigarette
he lit

she opens a can
i wonder if it's beer
but i don't think so

it's getting cold
i'm shivering
my nose is runny
i hold my arms to myself

he tells me, "let me feel your pipes."
i say, "i don't want you to feel my arm."
he says, "hold it out."

i hold it out
he feels
he tells me to flex
i flex
i say, "i'm a weakling."
he says, "you are a weakling."

he takes his hand away
and flexes his arm
"feel," he says.
i say, "i don't want to feel."
he says, "feel."
i say, "fine."

i feel

his girlfriend stifles a laugh
from the window of her car

he looks at me
with a weird look
he says, "has anyone ever told you
you have beautiful eyes?"
i just look at him
and laugh

she laughs from the car
as well

i say, "i've always liked my lips
the best."
my full lips
my kissable lips

he says, "yeah you have
nice lips too."
then he touches my leg
i know he's just doing it for a show
to her
she laughs again from
the car window

i say, "it's fun to mess with her,
isn't it?"
he whispers under his breath
it is

he's lying belly-down
she says, "fuck you."
he says, "fuck you when."
she just smiles a bit
"fuck you," she says again.

"you like it up the ass," chris says
to her
"you like it up the ass, don't you."
she says, "how would you know that?"
he says, "andy told me."

she says, "who told you?"
he doesn't say anything
and she looks away
and is messing with something

he says, "andy told me."
he says, "andy told me."
he keeps saying it

i laugh
because she doesn't hear
when she turns
she says, "i'm going to have him
come out there if you don't tell."

he says, "andy told me andy told me."
she says, "andy told you?"
i say, "he's been saying it for five minutes now."
i laugh
she just now hears
it

laurie comes out
of the back of the
steak buffet
i see the door
with the light
seeping out
to the night

i say, "the door's open."
then the door closes
then it opens again
out steps laurie

the rattle of keys
the going out of a light

chris pushes his head down
so she can't see him
he says, "shhh."
he says, "shhh."
i say, "shhhit."
he says, "shhh."
i say, "ittt."

he yells, "go home already!"

she's a bit far away
she says, "you guys are still here
yakking?"

"yeah."
"we are."
"we have nothing better to do,"
he says

i say, "he made me stay."
he says, "no i didn't."
"but if you had tried to leave
i would've stopped you."

she says, "we have to leave now."
"if we stay we'll get caught for tresspassing."

over across from
where we are
the light of a
police siren
is flickering

we decide to go

chris wants me
to follow him home
but i'm tired
i'm afraid i'll get lost
on the way back
because i can barely think straight

i go to my car
i turn on the heater
i listen to a Say Anything song
but pause it because he comes in
my car

he sits
for a second
then gets out
says, "see you later man."
he says, "sure you don't want to
come over?"

i say i'm sure
he says, "bye man."
starts closing the door
shuts it
closes it
leaves it open

he walks over
to her car
and gives her a kiss
through the window

he comes over
"bye man," and
he shuts the door
and i turn up "Woe"
and i drive off
with the heater on
warming me up

i come home
i need to sleep
i work at 12 tomorrow
another day
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Sunday, September 5, 2004

This is your life.

Can you give me a vague sense, just a little stick in the mud of what you'd feel like if your day had consisted of these events?

You wake up at about 7 a.m. Your dad takes you out to eat breakfast at Perkin's, you have the Tremendous Twelve.

You get home. You recently got this Ambulance LTD EP in the mail, so you decide to rip that.

About the time it finishes, it's almost 11 a.m. And that means it's time for work.

Today you work 11 a.m. to close. So you work close to twelve hours, depending on how long it takes to get out.

So you go to work. You work at the Steak Buffet.

You go in, punch in when it's time to get to work. You're set to unrack.

You unrack while the person who's set to wash washes. Eventually, the person who's washing gets to go on break, so now you're all alone, washing and unracking by yourself.

You keep up - you keep going out to the prebus carts and taking the plates, so you don't get behind.

He comes off break, and you go on break. You sit there and listen to a tall guy named Alex Kassian talk to an average-sized guy named Chris who has black hair, somewhat long.

You listen to them talk and just sit there, not saying much.

You get off break and go back to work, unracking.

Eventually the washer gets another break, so you're left alone again.

You get a little behind.

When he comes back he tells you you're getting a little behind.

He washes and you unrack a while, but then he's told to go do something else, so you're left alone.

You start working really hard - faster and faster. You get caught up, and when he comes back you say you're caught up thanks to you.

About 3, he decides he wants to go home, so you're left alone washing again.

You keep up.

At 5, you finally get another break. You get a free meal because you were asked to come in earlier and work longer than usual.

You eat a hefty amount, because you are hungry. You eat alone.

Then it's back to work. It's now 5:30, and you're set to bus.

It's so boring busing, because there's not much for you to bus, and when you have nothing to bus then you have to talk to the customers and prebus.

Time passes slow.

6.

So slow. It passes so slow, all those people, taking their plates, being curteous.

You find $2 on a table. It's the only tip you find.

7.

Will it ever end? You keep looking at that damn clock every time you go by it. Your body aches. You wish the clock wasn't there so you wouldn't have to look at it each time you go by it. You wish you were unracking or washing - time passed much faster when you were doing that, and it was at least somewhat fun for you.

You walk into the mirror and look at yourself, how skinny you're getting. You look pretty attractive you think, you're thin and muscular.

8.

Is it over yet? You just want to get the hell out. It's like prison.

One of the other busers, Tyler, is slacking because he has a headache and his kneck hurts, so you're busing most of the tables, doing the same process over and over again.

Tyler's over where those big tables are, and he finds three pennies on the table. When he says you can't even buy gum with that you think that's just insulting, people giving you a penny. What are they trying to be, Benjamin Franklins - "A penny earned is a penny saved" - ?

9.

It's finally 9. Thank god. You can't believe the day's finally almost fucking over.

9:15. One of the managers, a big large man named Steffen, lets you go on another short break - 15 minutes.

You sit beside Chris Koontz, this big guy, with black curly hair. You also sit beside that guy who was washing with you.

You sit there and relax, feeling tired. You say you feel like you could fall asleep right now. You drink glass after glass of water.

9:30. You go off break.

Time passes so slow.

You start busing tables, there's a lot to bus. You want to bus them as fast as you can, so you bus like crazy.

10.

You're done busing most of the tables. The only ones you haven't bused are the ones the people haven't left.

You go in the back and unrack while Chris Koontz washes.

You unrack fast. You want to get the fuck out.

10:30. You bus the rest of the tables. You do silverware, get it all done. While you do it, you sing Nine Inch Nail's "Piggy" under your breath.

"Nothing can stop me now because I don't care anymore. Nothing can stop me now, because I just don't care.

Hey pig. Hey piggy pig pig piggy.

Nothing can stop me now because I don't care anymore."

Then a tall gangling guy with long highlighted hair mostly pushed away in his Steak Buffet cap, Andrew Jinx, and Chris Koontz tell you how to clean the bathroom since this is the first time you've closed.

You put water on the mirror. You wipe it and dry it with paper towels. You clean off the sink with water and paper towels. You flush all the toilets. You change "the shitter paper," as Chris Koontz calls it. You change the drying paper, where people dry their hands, and then you mop.

You're tired and not thinking too straight, but you get most of it done when he comes back. They give you a hard time about it anyway.

You mop it over again, and come in the back and mop some sections.

11. You finally get out. 12 hours behind you - your whole day is gone. You've earned somewhere around $50, and that's without taxes being taken away.

How do you feel? Can you tell me?

Do you feel like you want to die? Do you feel triumphant? What do you feel? Do you have any idea?

Because I don't know.
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Saturday, September 4, 2004

Tired of the lie

Fucking lies is all they want. Lies, lies, lies - that's all there is to it. There's no way around it. There's no way over it. It's just the way it is, and there's not a damn thing you can do - not at all.

Love is a lie, God's a lie, money's a lie. It's all a fucking lie.

That's all it is.

Life's a lie.

I'm fucking sick of acting like I give into these lies.

Love's just a petty, pithy, useless desperation. When you get desperate, and your life is all pointless, you're supposed to "fall in love," you're supposed to "love each other forever," you're supposed to "kiss and hug till you die." Fuck that - because it is a lie.

Love is a word made up by all those optimists in this world - those who're all, "Let's spread love and peace, war is bad, words hurt, actions hurt. Be happy, 'love' each other." Love doesn't exist unless you twist it around so much, you think it's actually a truth.

There's more negative, cynical words in the english language than happy, optimistic ones. And for that, I am happy.

People don't want the truth. They can't handle the truth. If they were to actually believe in the truth, they'd get suicidal and want to kill themselves just like anyone else who is real with themselves wants to. But, the sad thing is most cannot kill themselves because it's harder than it looks like to pull off.

But instead of killing themselves or getting that desperate, people believe in this lie called "religion." More specifically, "Christianity."

The "Christians" believe in the lie that Jesus Christ died on the cross, and because he died on the cross they can live forever.

Jesus didn't die so you can go to heaven, he died because he was actually saying some true things, but now his truth has been twisted all around, and now he's just a scapegoat, some figurehead who's totally lost on everyone.

So now people believe in the lie. They live their lives worshiping "Jesus Christ" and look at him in awe because he suffered so much, because he was such a good, caring person, when they never even knew him. When you think about it, he was probably just some crackpot. A crackpot just like the fortune tellers or someone like those people who said they "cloned" the first human.

We suffer as much as Jesus Christ by the end of our lives. When we sit there, gray and dying, sputtering our last breaths - we'll die. And we'll have suffered as much as Jesus.

The funny thing is, we don't get to become some common name known to everyone, someone known forever and ever for what we did. No, instead we just get buried in the ground, rotting away in the ground, and a tombstone sitting there where we're buried, inscribed with our name (another lie), and the years we lived the lie.

We all get crucified - not in the real sense, but close enough. And millions upon millions of people have died for their beliefs, as well - just like Jesus Christ died for his.

What about the holocaust? What about all the endless wars over religion?

When you think about it, religion's not helped anything: it's just gotten more and more people killed.

But no, we hold Jesus Christ in higher esteem than anything else. He's a legend. He's a name we know so well, we use it to curse. "Jesus Christ!" we'll say, without even thinking about it.

Why can't we remember all those millions of dead people, why can't we spend our who lives sifting through them, looking at them, seeing them. But no, we'd rather read the Bible, see what Jesus has to say - and look in awe and gape in wonder at the pain he went through.

Why not do what they did with Jesus Christ, and form some religion about how all these millions and millions of people died so we can ascend to some "haven," some "heaven," some paradise up in the sky? Don't mind the fact that we know there's no heaven in the sky, because up above the Earth's atmosphere is the universe. Who cares about that fact.

It comes down to what Stalin said: "The death of one is a tragedy, the death of a million is just a statistic."

We feel bad about the Jews who died during the holocaust, but we really don't have any clue what it was like. Instead, we'd rather remember Jesus Christ because he promised us something, but those Jews, they didn't promise us anything when they died - they just rotted and died and starved, and that's all. Who really cares about that? We all die.

Get real. Those millions of people dying, they are far more worth remembering than Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ really set himself up to die, the way he went about it. The Jews didn't have a choice. Maybe they did, when they elected Hitler, what else would you do?

What if some guy comes up to you and promises you to get out of this big mess your country's in? What would you say, not knowing how wicked he is, and everything?

You'd say yes, and vote for him.

People can't handle the truth. They can't realize that life's worthless. They can't understand that we're just "dust in the wind," that we're just "drops of water in an embassy." They can't come to face with that.

Instead, they live in lies. They shove away the truth, because they can't handle it.

And when someone starts saying some things that make sense, they get shot.

See: Martin Luther King, Jr.

See: Malcolm X.

See: John Lennon.

See: John F. Kennedy.

See: Jesus Christ.

See: Robert Kennedy.

And it goes on and on.

You'll also notice a lot of people that've died that actually said something that made sense and was some form of the truth start with the letter "j" in their name. It sure is a weird anomaly, but if you want someone who'll be remembered and who will tell the truth, name them some name with a "j" in the start.

How about Johnson? What about Jessie? How about Jick? I'm sure Josephine's the next Madonna, and I'm sure Jackson's the next Jesus. Sure Jick is the next Jack the Ripper.

Do you think you can handle the truth? I don't think you can. I still can't handle the truth.

All we are is masses of atoms, of cells, of tissues, of organs, of macromolecules, of molecules. All we are is a machine with organic parts. That's what science tells us, and science is the most objective thing you can find.

We don't have souls. There is no such thing as love. Love is just desperation. Love gets old by the time you're done fucking someone until you can't fuck them anymore. But while you're fucking them, you love them, you'll say it aloud as you hold their beautiful ass, or touch their beautiful breasts, or touch their beautiful abs.

Then you just want to get away from them, when you finally figure it out. But by that time you've gotten kids from that fucking, so you can't get away. You're screwed unless you really want to hurt some people's feelings.

And if you didn't get kids by that time, boy are you smart. The next step would to be get away, then, Mr. Smarty Pants.

I'm one morbid bastard, but I know I want to fuck every woman I see. I don't care, as long as they're somewhat attractive.

When I'm at school I look at all the girls, and I think, She has a tight ass - I'd fuck her, She's got a nice face, I'd fuck her, She's got torpedo breasts, I'd fuck her, and then eventually I just think, I'd fuck them all.

That's the nature of it. Our entire reason for being alive is to fuck. All this body to just fuck. It's really sad.

It's too bad we're not walking penises and vaginas. Really is.

Reproduction, copulation, fornication. We have so many names for what in essence is sex. Is fucking. Is intercourse. Is doing "it."

It's supposed to be taboo when we're kids. If your parents catch you saying "Sex," then it's the end of the world as we know it. And yes, I do feel fine.

And then they'll give you the whole talk.

The man ejaculates into the woman, semen comes out, which has microscopic things called sperm in them, and these sperms have a head which has all the genetic information in it, and they've also got a flagellum to move with. These sperm seek out and try to find a woman's ovum, eggs, and try to take one and combine with it to make a zygote and then make a kid.

But like they say, children are a gift from God.

And that right there, is another lie.

They're not a gift from God. They're a gift from fucking. A gift that just keeps on giving.

And never stops.

Not until you want to shoot yourself straight in the area down there, anyway, and never ever have another little fucker again.

There is yet another lie: that sex is "taboo." It isn't. Sex is natural. It's as natural as your heart beating without you telling it to. Sex just happens, like shit does.

So what do you believe? Do you believe all this shit's worth it? Then you're believing in lies. It's never worth it, and nothing is.

Do you feel pride at your job? Are you happy to have it? Do you go to school? Do you go to college? Did you already pass college? Are you now working full-time?

Lies, it's all lies.

Life is not working each and every day. Life is not going to school each and every day. Life is not money. Life is none of these.

Life is fucking and fucking around until you finally die.

And for most of us, when we died is actually a lot earlier than when we really die.

The truth is that learning doesn't get you anywhere, in the long run. We're going to be wiped out eventually. We can keep growing and amassing, becoming even more than 6 billion people - but what's the point?

We can keep learning new things about the world around us.

Oh, we evolved from monkeys. Oh, and did you know you can cure so many things with stem cells? Oh, did you know if you get a blender and make a cheeseburger into a shake, and inject it with a needle into your arm you'll die? Did you know that if you just eat that cheeseburger from your mouth your body will use those nutrients and digest it, but you won't die?

Did you know nematacysts are the stinging cells in jellyfish? Did you know water is Hydrogen Hydroxide?

I mean, who the fuck cares? What is the point? Why know anything at all, when we're just going to die some day, as a whole race?

Sure, we might be able to get off this shithole Earth before the sun becomes a red giant, and eats up the Earth. Sure, we might be able to inhabit some other planet somewhere else. But what's the fucking point?

All life is is misery. It's shit after shit, after shit. It's suffering, endlessly. It's fessing up to the lies this world gives us.

War in Iraq anyone? War in Vietnam anyone?

Cuban Missile Crisis anyone?

What about a mid-life crisis, anyone?

It's in our nature to not understand things we even do understand. We just can't believe them.

We can't believe we're in this war in Iraq, and we blame it all on Bush, he's the scapegoat. Sure, he has a lot to do with it, but who we should blame is ourselves. Because we believe his lies, and we believe all the lies.

Okay, so Bush is an idiot.

We can't believe the Vietnam war. We go over there, the United States, all big and mighty, ready to kick ass, because you know we're the best country to ever grace this shithole.

And we end up getting our asses kicked.

Thousands and then some deaths later, we pull the hell out.

Then the Missile Crisis. Nukes. Those mushroom clouds.

We could've killed each other right then and there.

It shows you it's our nature to abuse knowledge, and eventually we'll just fuck ourselves over and kill ourselves.

And bye bye.

Then everything the US has done. When you look at it you realize the US acts like some arrogant bastard.

And we're still believing in Jesus Christ and his promises. And we're still believing in our country and its promises.

And then of course eventually the mid-life crisis hits. You wait, you'll hit it. It'll be like a period, and you'll just want to get impregnated with cancer.

Everything's so empty. And you can't fill it up with lies, either.

You see, I found Jesus finally. I realized he was in me. I realized I had to stop fucking lying to myself, thinking I really give a shit what I have to do in this world.

I don't give a shit. I'm nihilistic, and I'm sick of acting elsewise.

And you know, because I'm cynical I'm more optimistic than I've ever believed I could be. It's amazing.

Pessimistic optimism. Ring a bell? It does to me.

It's looking at the truth and being happy you can see it, happy you know the world blows.

I mean come on, people. Learn to fucking fight.

The Roman Empire fell. Stalin fell. Hitler fell.

Let's make it all fall. We can do it, we just need an uprising.

Any other Jesus Christs out there, willing to go out there and kill some assholes?

---

A note: This was very fun to write.

Take it as sarcasm. That's what it is.

Yes, at the core I do believe these things, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to make it in this world.

I'm going to.
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Friday, September 3, 2004

there's no need

don’t be so verbose
to me
so fast in what
you say

your lips’re
paletting out
words
painting my house’s
walls--
the bare, white
stark walls—
making it a mess
you better stop, miss
because you’re
something i can’t
have

don’t be so verbose
to me—
come on
it’s as simple
as this:

we are what we are
do what we do
and if we are for each other, then
let’s skip the pleasantries, let’s skip
what needn’t be said
let’s do what we can’t do
when we’re dead

do it simply
this intellect eats me alive
it squirms around me
those
cockroaches, moths, bees in their hives
they eat me
alive

do it
simply

simply, i know i cannot have you
simply, i know i cannot speak to you
so simply, i will imagine you in my dreams
as that beautiful, pretty thing
as something of a queen

because i know
there’s no need to be wordy
there’s no need to tangle the wires
make it all complex,
a large, skyscraping
layered flesh


there’s no
need

i will just
wait
patiently
as i have
all the time

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Thursday, September 2, 2004

Night as a Womb

night grows as a womb
going back in and soon
this fetus’s one i knew
could it’ve been you?
darkness is a light
the sun’s bright
out the window
we’re like moths to the flame
my lighter has oil
put your hands in this soil
look up at the moon
see the flowers bloom
this fetus’s one i knew
this night i see, going back
going through
pushing down
and up against you
my wings’re wire
burning in the fire
in my head night’s growing
the bones’re showing
the flesh is going
not what i was before
the dark is the door
open it up and step in
with your feet on that floor
take those shoes off
don’t wear them in here
let’s go to the fire
it’s nice and warm
we’re suns
the moon’s the saddest thing i ever seen
crying those lunar tears
the night’s the best queen
reigning over this land
she covers it all in her dress
wears it with a bra
this’s the darkest i ever saw
the stars are full of brawn
the universe is diverse
deathly pale
i’d like to build myself a ship
and sail
go out there
i’d take you with
the black lip
she would carry us through
in her
we’d go in shadow
it’d be shallow
we’d wallow in the mire
we’d never tire
forever and ever
the night growing in its carriage
cooing with cries
feeding on the weary
dreaming with the dreary
eating with the leery
all the while teary
rivers in the abyss
the night crushing fist
never can resist
this night growing as a cancer
malignant dancer
open tempt
to think we could’ve slept
i’d rather have kept
my eyes open to her form
staying in her dorm
she’s everything
without her it seems too bright
she’s tight
it’s loose without her
abuse without her
the day is too long
it bruises me
so night’ll grow with me
she’ll be born when i say
better to have it that way
could this fetus’ve been you?
could it’ve ever gotten bigger?
the stars are brawn tonight
tough and ready for the fight
but over the ridge i see the light
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Wednesday, September 1, 2004

Freestyle

descendent
falling free falling
like a tree
catch me

catch me

---

coffin nails
impales the tomb
cancer stick
throw it
the dog'll do a trick

lungs heave in air
through that smoker's teeth
is despair

black & ash
ashtrays on tables
plumes rising

this is death in a breath
this is breath in a death

this is them killing themselves
suicide
it just takes longer, is less sudden
than a gun to the head

are they cowards?
if you want to be dead,
why not be dead?

through the smoke
they exit.

---

we're all actors
on a stage
we all live in the world
our chains
rattle shackle moan blame
it's never different, always the same
rattle shackle moan blame
lowing cows, wild & tamed
never different, always the same

our chains
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