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Saturday, May 29, 2004
The sparrows are flying
Well, don't expect to see me much online till I get a job. Parents are anal that way.
I miss Erin, as well as many other people. Ah well, it is off to Fargo.
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Friday, May 28, 2004
The day rolls along like a tank manned by soldiers whose lives are but pawns in a game called war.
schizoid
Which Personality Disorder Do You Have?
brought to you by Quizilla
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nova
when i lie in bed, i imagine the bed can take me places. i imagine it taking away all this empty world-this place i am forced to live in-and i imagine my bed is like a magic carpet, it takes me for a ride. sometimes i can feel myself drifting on it, and i try to see the stars, and feel the wind in my hair, but then i open my eyes and see the same i’ve seen forever. i think forever is a long time, and that even forever has an end.
i do not remember my dreams, and as i lie in this bed, i remember being younger, and how simple that life was. i look at myself in the mirror and wonder what’s happened. i want to blame something for taking this all away. everyone used to ask me what i wanted to be when i grew up, and i was ignorant and dumb then, and would tell them i wanted to be a scientist. i used to read books about the universe, and space, and i used to say if i were to be a certain kind of scientist, i would be an astronomer. i remember i read in a book that eventually the sun was going to destroy the earth, and i find myself thinking about that more and more, and fully understanding it now that i am older.
i remember i would look up in the sky, and i would look at it and think how beautiful it is. now when i look at the sky, i just realize i cannot stand it anymore. it is no longer beautiful. when i look at the twinkling sky, i feel it’s alien, and i feel i’m alien. i wonder if there’s another form of life out there quite like us human beings. i wonder if they live like us-wasting our lives away, slaving for money, wanting and lusting to succeed. always wanting to be better than the other. i wonder if they actually have a better world-one that i can only imagine of now. for i never dream anymore.
there are two types of dreams. there are those dreams you dream as you sleep, in that thin wall of subconscious existence. then there are those dreams we soar to achieve. one boy might want to be famous one day, one boy might want to be a scientist, as i wanted to be, one boy might want to be a teacher. that’s the other dream there is.
to me, these two variances of dreams are the same. the dreams i now wish for-to be a writer, and simply live off that-and the ones i dream in sleep-are the same. they are the same because neither happen in reality, and i don’t remember either of them. i don’t feel this dream anymore. i don’t even know it. it’s as alien as looking up at that twilit sky, seeing those twinkling stars, and seeing how vast the universe is and wondering if there’s actually anything more-anything as amazing as i dream-out there. if there’s aliens out there who feel as alien as i do.
when i think about it, i am a somnambulist. i am a sleepwalker, and i have been my whole life. i don’t prescribe to this contrived reality i see, but rather, i live in the depths of myself, in my imagination. my imagination isn’t child-like anymore, it is a deep monster, a black hole, that at times has glimpses of a child. but in and of itself, my imagination is still child. it is a child bitter with this world, but not angry. i have never been prone to anger-instead, i am prone to holding of a grudge. i like my feelings served cold, and revenge is, quite correctly, one of those.
my imagination is like a friend to me-one that understands me completely and fully. it does not speak to me, but it does create, and it does destroy. my imagination’s main way of communicating outside of me is words. at times, my imagination, the monster it is, will grab this reins that are me and whip me to blood with its words. sometimes these words feel written in cold blood, sometimes these words feel written and smeared; sometimes they feel other things-but in the end, they always feel right. i do not know what i would do without my imagination’s finding of words as an outlet of expression. i do think that if i hadn’t found words my imagination would’ve died, and a long time ago. maybe me with it.
i feel like an alien. the only thing that doesn’t make me feel like an alien is my imagination, and these words. sometimes even these words feel alien, feel like they’re further alienating me. maybe sometime i’ll be growing those big bulbous eyes, and those petite, pallid hands. maybe i’ll be an alien. especially when i already am.
have you ever felt beyond this world? have you ever felt those two eyes of yours go in your head and dig? i’ve heard there’s some graves there. even some bones to throw. maybe there’s a rocket to the stars too. maybe it’ll let us escape, being the aliens we are. just give it time and we can go wherever we please, and go beyond this world’s disease-and be free. it all starts a little way above the knees. just a little reaction to this attraction and then it starts to please. this is release. we will be astronauts outside our suits, i will slowly take your suit off, and you will take mine off, and as aliens in space, we will float through this wide beyond to the end. it will be cold-numbing, even tiring-but i will know which direction is south, and i will know how to feel. with my hands i will touch and it will be an out-of-body experience even though you’re in-body. let’s take some time and take some more, we have nothing to lose but ourselves-and don’t you tell anyone.
aliens are meant to be above. they’re meant to be ahead. they’re meant to be in the string-held, orchestrated sky. we’re just puppets-we do not deny. our strings lead to our hearts. let’s play with the strings a little longer, and become tangled in this maze. i think i’ve seen this before, but it’s nice. this twilit sky, these stars, the blackness. space is the best way to see. space is a real image of imagination. vast and endless, never-ending, over-encompassing, going on and on, with planets-those spheres-and red giants-and black holes-and galaxies and nebulae and novas and meteors and asteroids. i think i wanna take my suit off again. i wanna see you breathing through me. i wanna take in this whole sky. i wanna see how beautiful it is to float here and just fly. without this space suit i’m just here in this sky, my imagination cradles me to go beyond and ride. i love the way your skin looks tonight. the alienation in my bones, my deepness stark. do not leave me, do not leave me. let me love you here in my head. i’ll just hold you till we’re dead, floating, in my imagination. dream for me because i can’t dream anymore. let’s go beyond.
you’re my god, i’m your christ. let’s be crucified in the end. i think my life’s just a bend. i think i’ll be crucified when i go. this life’s done it to me. don’t you see how grounded i really am? going beyond this space here in my head, i’m stuck down below. it’s always the edge. you can have my body of christ, my bread of life, i’ll feed it to you. you can dig the inches of nails into me. you know one’s gonna go through the heart, break it down. i just wanna hold you then. corpus christi, corpus christi my dear. mistress, do not fear. the misery the agony, you’re making me alive. you’re a frankenstein. oh dear, my dear. the clouds in the sky made it rain. the lightning bolt was bold. it hit me in the chest. i felt it openly caress and make me alive. won’t you just be mine? i live for you, my god. i live for you.
through the window of your eyes, i saw what you were covering up. everything was steel, the automatic feel. they all smiled but it was fake, wasn’t real-it was contrived, an affable thing. they were all machines. android eyes, death’s-hands, they had the eyes of something inhuman. can i have you back? can i just hold you in my arms? i wanted to shut off your safety alarms. i meant no harm. i grab you by the arm. you shove me away and i’m left here alone. robots have my heart and they tore it apart. your batteries just need to recharge. i freefall to the ground and make a crater with your form inside.
a space cadet glow, and i’m floating in cold space. i look on over to touch your face but it’s got a see-through helmet covering it up. were those tears in your eyes? i wipe away. what was that you tried to say? your lips moved. your lips moved and kissed me away. i wanna take off my space suit and yours too. why must we float in this devoid? inside i’m wanting to disappear. it’s lonely, it’s lonely. i go off and land on the sun and burn up for a while. you just sit there and float. i’m burning for you. the flames scorch me raw. the fire inside is irascible, i see your eyes burn. let’s burn all else away. the time is running out. the dancing flame. we need some rain. the rain shoots down and like a bullet to the chest i land in your arms. we put the flames out together. she’s burning me away. she’s my sun and i orbit her. and sometimes i need to wear some sunscreen to keep away her ultraviolet rays. skin cancer will eat me away. i just want to get inside her. this cancer is terminal and malignant. it eats at me. i just want to have her. her ultraviolet rays are too strong. i’ve got skin cancer, and it’s for her. it’s eating me up. it’s summer on my planet, she’s close to me. she burns cloudless in the sky. what would i do without your rays of sunshine to my eyes? what would i do without the skin cancer you give me? when winter comes it’s gonna be mighty cold. she’ll still burn but not as bright. she’ll be too far away. too distant from my arms. i savor this season and watch everything grow.
one day her sun will hit my earth. it’ll boil away my water, destroy my population. she’ll expand to a red giant and burn out with a bang. then she’ll be a white dwarf in the sky. my planet’ll be disintegrated. i’m gonna miss her then. i think i will cry when she burns up. she’s still wearing that helmet up here. i rip it off and embrace her and tell her it’s all right. up above ourselves, it’s night. we fall asleep in each other’s arms. my weary eyes look to when she’s gonna fade. i use my imagination and make her last forever, even after that day. this is just the end of the world. and we float and coalesce. we feel and caress. we live as if we’re going to die. our lips together shape a why. our bodies together make a because. all this will fade, all this will fade. she’s my god and she crucifies me each day. i am not a blasphemer.
turn the page on this book where i write. what do you see? i looked to the last page of my book, and i found you. i tried to erase it but it came back down. i felt it crash my car. you’re such a blazing star. this universe is empty without you. in a burst, the sky is blue. i am sad, it’s true. what am i to do? i look at the pages of my book and tear. i wanna get rid of everything that’s me. you hold my hand and color me in crayons. you’re coloring me in crayons. this isn’t crayola. you’re such a blazing star. your colors are so bright. i’m a coloring book for you to color in. i’m black and white at the beginning, you make me feel. there’s too many colors for you to use. there are two colors in my head. you’re coloring me in crayons, you’re coloring me in crayons. i’m full of hue.
do you see what this imagination drew? did you see the niche of words? i felt it change. without it i am in chains. you rust the steel that is on me. you make it breakable. unbreakable toys are used to break breakable toys. i know how to turn your crank. i know how to position you. you’re my action figure. you come with accessories. you’re a doll. i wanna see you for a while. i take off these rusted chains and smile. it’s all so futile. i keep along. my imagination holds you in its arms. it gets stale, i feel i want to bail. i exhale at this world and brush it away like i’m brushing my hair. some of it gets stuck on the brush in thin strands. it looks like a spider’s web. did i catch any insects in there? you look like a swarming fly to me. too bad i’m not a spider, then i’d have you for dinner. this world is like a hive, and all the bees live for their queen bees. the queens rule with an iron fist. this is her monarchy. i am not her king. this is uxorcide. how very uxorious this is. i am submissive and give in. for her i have sinned. she has me in her web. i comb my hair and look away from the mirror. i get up and leave. the pages are full of nothing. they’re yellowing with age. but the words still stand out, bold and engraved. my queen bee, i’ll die for you. my stinger goes in my own skin. i feel it go deep in. it hit some bone. the bones are my chains. she makes me go beyond this flesh. she makes me more than a human being. through her i am not mortal. my stinger comes off of me and i spasm back and forth in pain. she makes my bones go away. she makes me die. i know why. my book is full of the answers. i pull her-a thin strand-from the web. i wet the comb and watch the fibers of the world go down the drain. it’s just me and her, nothing else to put me in these chains. she rusts my bones. she takes the calcium away. her milk keeps me sustained. we make honey. the sweet stick. her honey’s the best. how it feels as i lick it away. she’s the queen. she’s all i’ll ever need.
and so-here in this space-i dream of you. my dreams are empty as my soul. this dream of you is as weak as any other. it is a human need. i sometimes put aside the human side of me now. i take it away and interrogate it. i find that it’s so undefined. it is so lost. i find that it is cowardly. and mainly, i find that it is human.
my imagination is a bed i sleep in and dream in. it is a comfy cushion for all this world tries to break me to do. i am not afraid to serve this reality, just as long as i can look to my unreality. i can go deep in my head while i’m doing fine outside. i can be up in the stars, an alien. i can be in the twilight zone.
the child i once was is replaced by this fiend. i look over, and go on. the death of the child is hard to overcome, but it is just another page in my book. someday this novel will be published. someday she will be what i write for. my bible will be for her and her alone. i will read her verses of it and go to her church and pray. i am unsanctified, i am broken, open, and displayed. she will cover my bullet holes. this is the fiend i am. i am not afraid of it.
without the words, i have nothing to say. without them, i have nothing to win anyone over with.
as albert einstein said, “imagination is more important than knowledge.” i will keep this as long as i can. this destruction is a better form of creation in my head. i will orbit the sun and be blinded by its light. i will slowly edge upon death-that bloodsoaked fan. it will suck me into its blades. i will become part of that offal. i will look up at the cigar smoking sky and smell the violating smell of smoke-how it lingers, and grays my lungs. i will watch my world die. and i will build a rocket straight to her sun. i will forget everything about me and know everything about her. my imagination will get me through. i don’t need anyone else’s help but its help.
here’s to boldly going where no man has gone before.
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Tuesday, May 25, 2004
"Meety Your A Pock A Lips," cont.
First, today's the last day of school for me, so I'm dropping a lot of whatever I can in here, because I don't think I'll be able to access the internet much. So, if you'd like, you can keep coming back here and read what you haven't (because the post before this one was pretty long). And, mainly, enjoy my genius.
Death sat in the coffee cafe thinking about the last person he had killed. You couldn’t see his face because he was wearing his black robe and it covered up everything, even the face. It’s sure behind the dark black was a skeleton. He took a sip of his coffee and the rising steam of it rose up to the ceiling, dispersed. He wondered who god was going to have him kill next. A poor helpless baby? A nice-looking woman? He hoped it was the latter. Those nice-looking women were really nice to rape before killing them. Of course, the entire prospect of a skeleton raping was quite hard to come to an understanding of, but let’s just say Death, being the cool cat he is, managed. And quite well.
The only thing Death had ever known was death. It never even hurt to kill them anymore. He would strangle them to death, the energy would leave them, their arms and hands and legs would become prostrate. That was that. It never even mattered anymore. He could kill anyone and there was no backlash in his conscience. He actually enjoyed killing them. It was control among other things. And it was just doing what that gook up there told him to do. Okay, so the gook wasn’t a gook, he was omniscient, omnipotent, the greatest shit that had ever hit the fan, Mr. Know-it-all; he was dog spelled backwards, he was “Allah.” The shit. Death hadn’t even met the guy. All he knew was he was doing the man’s dirty work because he was too scared to do it himself.
God would call him at the payphone of where he was. Don’t ask how god knew where the hell Death was, but he did.
Here we are, the phone’s ringing. Death can hear it. He gets up out of the booth he was sitting in all comfy. Grabs his steaming coffee cup, chugs it all in quick, sets it back on the table, searches in his robe, gets out a few bucks, sets them down. Death is a paying man, and he never forgets the chance to pay the tip. The tip is what the people live for.
Death searched around in his robe a little longer, pulled out a pack of Marlboros. Took out a lighter. Lit the fag up. Put the cig in his mouth and tasted its beauty. It was like breathing. He then stepped outside, turning to Tommy, the owner, saying, “Thank ye for the coffee, fine sir,” giving the motion saying goodbye and was out.
Tommy said, “Bye,” and was back off behind his counter doing his job as manager. Death hadn’t heard him, he was already out in the day.
The sun smiled its face in the sky. Death hated the sun, it was such a useless thing up there. Mr. Smiley Face with Big Light in His Eyes and Smiling Face and Happiness was just too yellow as piss for such a man as death is. Too damn yellow as piss.
The phone was ringing, moving back and forth crazily from the ring, lines of movement coming out of it. Death stepped into the phone booth, picked up the phone, put it to his ear. “Hello,” says Death to Almighty on the other end. Death inhaled deeply on his cig, let the smoke come out of his mouth in a big plume.
“It’s the end of the line for these fucking people,” god said. The man sounded angry. It didn’t sway Death at all. It was just business, as usual. He kept it cool.
“And why’s that?”
“Death, my man, they don’t get it.”
“You shoulda known that long time ago, sir.” Death inhaled his cig again. Breathed it out in a plume.
“Maybe. Who the fuck knows.”
“So what’s the problem, boss?”
“None of the twerps believe in me anymore. That’s the fucking problem. Have you seen my fucking churches lately?”
”No.”
“Well, they’re tearing them down. Tearing down a lot of em. Fucking sinners. I can’t believe their gall.”
”So whaddaya want me to do?” He breathed in. Breathed it out in a plume.
”I got a plan in the works, D. I got a nice plan. We’re gonna kill all these fuckers—all the ones who don’t believe in me—and we’re gonna let the ones who do believe in me live.”
“It’s bout time.”
”Yeah, sure as fucking hell is. It’s time to kick them in the balls. Listen, D.”
”Yeah?”
“I got a meteor on its jolly good way to the Earth right this moment. It’s gonna hit em where it hurts. While that’s on its wonderful way, I wanna have you causing lotsa shit. I wanna see you killin as many of those that don’t believe in me as you can. I wanna see a fucking massacre. I wanna see these fuckers bleed for what they done. Ya hear?”
“I hear ya.”
”OK. Get yer ass in gear then, there’s lotsa killing. Here—here’s the beginning of the list.”
“Hold on. I’m gonna get out paper an a pen.”
Death breathed in his cig. It was a stump now. Almost down to the filter. He let out a plume of smoke. Opened the phone booth’s glass door, flung the cig on the ground, brought his foot down on it heavy and reduced it to ash. He brought out a pad of paper, torn and worn and used, and brought out a pen. He’d taken this pen from his last victim. Death scribbled down the names as the man read them to him. There were many many names. More than death had gotten in a long while.
“. . .And that’s all. Give em hell, D. I wanna see you fucken masochistic with em. Fucking make em hurt.”
“Yessir. I’ll do that for ye sir. Don’t ye worry.”
“Fuggedabout worryin. I trust ya D. OK. I’ll call ya when I need ya.”
“Adios.” He hangs the phone back up. Closes his pad of paper. Puts the pen away. Read the first few names on the list. And was on his deathly way.
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Weary-eyed.
mounting horse
frustration is mounting its horse. . .
is getting ready to go on a journey to the heart and soul
just take it all i have nothing to give
and take it to them.
the war mongerers’ll get it going.
The Throat
All my life
the world
has lodged
down my throat
its ideals, its realities,
its fallacies.
I have stood
often, pensive;
and i think of
what i feel
and i think of
how much will i feel
inside of me.
I feel this strength
is
better than brawn;
i feel this vigor
will
carry me on.
It’s this feeling that I feel—
it is all that matters anymore.
Am I such a dreamer
to bring the world to rights?
Often I wonder why I fight.
Surrendering, and giving up
is so much easier
than losing, than this fight
for something i can never have
and will never see.
But my will carries me.
Fighters are meant to die
And lovers are meant to be reticent
with this life.
I will carry both of those
under my burlesque,
wear them like tight clothes.
I want to change the world,
I want to be remembered
I have the will to do it
You will see me again sometime
My dreams will not die.
Look me in the eye
I’ve got something to say.
My words aren’t meant to be played possum with.
Hear them in you.
Without the words
I am no one, I am nothing.
Without this expression
I am limited.
The words are a vessel
to the temple
of my mind.
Do not
let them
go
For that is blind.
These words are of a
special kind.
Without the words, where would I be?
I wouldn’t have my will carrying me.
For through these words,
there is nothing—then a mountain;
for through these words,
I can make you see.
For through this words,
I can truly be.
And these words
are something
I cherish
and
no matter what
I will cherish them
to my last breath,
the last heave.
All my life
I have been
lodged this world’s
ideals, its realities
down my throat.
When I try to speak now
with them lodged in
I do not hear myself speaking.
I have become silent
taciturn and i can only
speak, and be loud,
through these words.
These words are just
letters given a value
that’s as contrived
as this world.
But these words
these words, they are mine.
I can do what I want with them.
Even though the letters are but curves--
and lines manipulated and given
sounds--
through them
I have been found.
I want to share this gift with you,
I want you to feel it.
I want you to be found.
Am I such a dreamer
to put the world to rights?
I am a lover, I am a fighter
The passion is my fist.
My flower is the word.
My gun has no bullets.
And I can still kill you.
Shoot you.
Make you really alive.
Do not resist
your feelings
do not
hold it in.
Let’s begin.
Do not resist
your feelings
do not
hold it in.
It has just began.
Let’s begin,
let’s begin.
of a human being
I
sucha, such a
chill
like it’s winter
snow&flake&cold
numb.numb.numb.
and i see. . .and i see
tomorrow breathe
this
heave
i do
believe
yesterday meant nothing
to me.
it passed,
and i had my passing
with it. i was not sad,
no, was not sad.
the apathy gets it through,
the numb.numb. it’s true.
no feeling but
i felt.
yesterday meant nothing
to me.
II
open
up
this
head
let me
in
i wanna see
what’s in
here
in the bars
behind the cell
expose it
closed
my eyes
i see
black
my eyes
droop
opened
my eyes
i see
but most
of all
i hear
the
music
where’s the
imagination?
where’s the
child in
you?
i wanna see
through
but
on the outside
of my head
the entrance
is held
with yellow
caution tape
a face
greets
with a nod
of the head
“no admittance,”
he says
“ there’s been a murder here.”
i wanna see
but he says
the same
thing
again
III
i think i quite hate this endless spin spin
how i’m born again. . .
how i’m born
againandagainandagain
ANDAGAINandAgAiNaNdaGaIn
when, really, i’m just covering up
the dead rot—decay—dilapidation—emanciation—
the burying, the insinuation—the entire fallen being,
i’m just gonna go about this deliquescing
THIS FEEBLE ASH
COVERS WHAT’S ALREADY BEEN DONE
this rigormortis—this death’s son.
the hardness of death covers the lies.
o a frail human has given,
o those reborn.
THIS FEEBLE ASH
COVERS WHAT’S ALREADY BEEN
DONE
cover up the murders with a new person
give him control of this gig.
i’m outta service and i can’t be repaired.
bodysnatch me
take snare and take the stage.
say, “hello,” and, “this’s a nice cage.”
my ribs dented the heart, the heart ruptured apart,
the hand reached in to give it a start,
the hand was covered in bleeding.
i felt the world spin and dart.
looking up i saw the intruder
--he stole all i ever owned—
. . .all i ever owned
. . . . . .ever owned
. . . . . . .all i. . .ever. . .
owned.
i’m quite sick of this
spin spin, the way the world looks
to my eyes.
i wanna crash my body
to the sky.
i wanna pry open those
two blue beautiful eyes.
i wanna know how many times
i’ve died.
and how many more times
i’ve gotta come back alive.
IV
a human being’s
main course
is survival
it is
the
one thing
which
keeps about
and, feeding ourselves
this coarse meal,
the taste becomes us.
we fear death
because nature
is meant to be
alive
and our nature
is nature’s nature.
why, i ask
do we fear death
when it is
release,
eternal release
from the struggle?
it is
because
we lust.
but this
human desire
is getting
as dead as leaves.
i think
it is pointless
to survive
when the rewards
reaped from
going on, getting on
are the same.
i think it is pointless
when all paths
lead to the same
end.
it may bend,
but it always terminates.
perhaps
i have yet
to do something
profound.
the only reason
i continue to survive
is because
i am weak.
because i am
a coward.
it is not within in me
to let go
of what i have.
so simply
i will continue to
destroy and
create.
for this is imagination,
this cycle.
every moment of every facet of time
i am making something.
i have yet to see
if it is beautiful.
if it has the power
to change this
messed up, broken
world
i live upon.
to me
i see
everything
that is
most
important
isn’t
the knowledge
isn’t
this tedium.
the most important thing
to me
is imagination.
it is my survival
from this harsh land.
and maybe, just maybe
my survival will become
the bitter struggle
that is
life.
i shall not stray
from what i am given.
i shall not stray
from my gift.
i shall not forget
what these words
have given me,
and when they allow me
to do
so much more
i will be alive, even more,
because of them.
V
“you may not pass,”
still says the man.
but i
wanna see.
all there would be
to see
is feeble ash.
an endless cover
of waste
to keep it all floundering,
to keep it all going
on the trek
of survival.
why was the word
phoenix penned
when a human being
would suffice?
i have paid my price.
let me be alive
and stable.
let me
have myself
back
you
goddamned
thief.
but still
the part of me
that was me—
my only identity—
is gone.
sun’s wires
the sun’s
a ball of
fire, of fire
it’s held in the sky
by wires
(makes it dance
makes it prance
as if it’s got some chance)
with some scissors, in my hand
i’ve got some surgery to do
(nothing big, just fixing
what’s broken
--i’m a repair man)
flying in a plane, a shuttle to the sun,
i wear a suit with a helmet to keep my lungs
it’s to the stars where it’s true.
and when i’m there
i cut the sun’s wires
and make it fall
to the earth, free falling
and destroy it all.
tick tick
“tick tick—this’s time,
i’ve got some wasting to do,”
said the bug-eyed fat-faced fool.
this here’s time, he’s got it all down.
he’s a tick, hops around.
he’s such a goddamned tool.
“you know, when you were born,
you were such a FUCKING PRETTY baby,”
he ticks, and crawls in my skin
digging up it all—“oh where do i begin?”
i would say, “we don’t begin,” but my lips,
they don’t move, seems time’s got them glued.
maybe it’s elmer’s glue, that would be a laugh.
“and look at you now,” time’s saying to me,
the bug-eyes of this tick at me.
if i could i’d rip those two things from his face,
then he wouldn’t see and maybe then things would go my way.
maybe it’d even shut his mouth.
“you feel dead and the time goes on—tick tick—and you can’t believe
this world. well, i’ve gotta say, you’re quite disrespectful—contemptual—
to not like it this way,” and he snarls at me, and i wish i could get the guts
to punch him right in the face then. “for the way things are is because of me. why, you should feel PRIVILIGED to be where you are when you are because of me. but NO, you cannot seem to grip it, CAN YOU?”
and he’s infesting my skin,
and he’s festering within,
and he’s eating every last will i had left,
and he’s shooting down every last dream in the sky i have,
and he’s laughing like a fucking clown
because it’s all funny to him.
and he’s breaking my hand,
and he’s killing every last single part of me that is alive.
and he’s laughing like a fucking clown
because it’s all funny to him.
he’s a tick
in my skin
and i’d get him out
but he’s deep in,
holding on.
he really knows how to make me thin,
and make me want to die.
i turn away from him,
and through a whisper, quiet as i can,
i answer low.
“no, i can’t come to grips with it.”
and, lying down,
i sulk.
breaking & entering
with your eyes
you neutralize
the pupils dilate
wide spheres pry
you’re looking for what
attracts--finds
you’re looking through
a window, it’s got blinds
the window’s wide,
like your eyes.
finger the fingers
to the window
breaking and entering’s the crime.
then--stepping outside,
you’ll be in my hide.
what’s worth wondering
is how it feels.
is it a bony hard wear?
does it seem to tear
when you move this way or that?
too fat?
do you wish you’d stayed inside the window-room?
tell me, is it too soon? too doomed? what’s there to do?
should it stay crude?
or should it be made true,
shapely & smooth?
it’ll kiss
you
i’ll kiss
you
we’ll kiss
us
we’ll do a little
thing
called breaking and
entering
the cops won’t stop us--they’re at their doughnuts,
groveling, eating devouring the things,
and we’re not doing a crime--it’s just human beings.
two beings yielding one broken tree. will it wilt to a machine?
will we wear our slings, nurse our sores?
will we gore, will we soar, will we lie in each other’s arms
on the floor?
is it going to be worth it anymore?
should we have ended before?
are we whores?
tell me, does what we trod upon feel worn?
let’s not let it be a matter,
let’s flatter each other
and wear our hides.
shut the blinds, lock the window tight
there’s a certain wind tonight, blows like a fight,
it’ll punch us if we don’t lock up tonight
and have at each other’s flesh.
for skin is made to press & hush
& feel & blush & touch.
now let us go about
this breaking
and entering--
steal each other’s thuds.
fleshly
happy grabber tustles
down the ground
the ground muscles
brawny shoulders held
it up
the forms waver
like candle’s flame
hands find ownership
give name
grass all over the head
smells caught up
the tangles in the root
watery rain holds
it wettens like a rose
the red open expose
release the pent
the pretty things
all them they must die
put it in a hold
rip naked the walls
flesh hold to bones
skin fleshly a home
two bleedly bloodies
sew together the bruise
engorged for dredge
wide open a cocoon
hands on grass
grope--the fingers writhe
grass feels to forms
skin sore bruise
to skin sore bruise
it all is everything broken
the red open expose
insinuation chokes chest
red open pressed
fleshly open the caressed
two bleedly bloodies
banging against each other
in grass
they are them it is
all of this it is
how can it be this is
it is all this is broken
this is all it is broken
broken it is all broken
so given is
pleasure explained
so lost is
all this drain
all it is this is broken
the groan’s lain
down it utters forth
deep throat drone
flushed the skin tone
red full of flower
it is wanted i to say
it all it is fall in arms
it is all wanted to say
it is all it is fall in arms
all it is all broken it is
this i want to tame
it is all is broken
i tire of the game
this i want to tame
it all is, it is all broken
thing
down in the
thing it is
going fast it is
hitting a thump
the thing it is playing
with all it can
dig down there
it is a place good
it is where you want to be
it is a nice place to go
let’s grow like the thing
like a plant to the stem
the root heads
to the top of the side
do not hide
the way you wear
yourself on the way
you hold it so high
i see it all inside
i will cover its hide
i will make it die
do not shudder at the sight
of the dine
it is eating carcasses fine
this i do not whine
but this i do ply
held to your why
the thing will take me
i will make me
i will break me
to what it is that is nothing
you will show skeletons they will be something
i will be dumping
it all in the trash
sleep end the happy crash
the curb falling over all it too fast
the blurry faces of the past
i grasp your hand but your are not real
we will find where to go
where to feel
the murderer smiles at his kills
the teeth crooked the mouth wide
the gun held in the head makes it timed
metal is a cold way to derive
let us find the finding thing that grinds
make the sound i like to climb onto
the roar of a motor of a bullet of a dine
eat it full it drink the wine
i want an intoxicated swine
and you are not real to me yet
i will make you come to me in a dream
i will close my eyes now and see the things
i will close my eyes and know there’s better wings
i will close my eyes and see it is all more green
that it is all growing
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Monday, May 24, 2004
By the head
[i don't give a shit]
these numbers
don't exist
still they stare
gotta be there
still they stare
gotta be there
identity
smears
handprint
on my
head
been said
social security
death
Excerpt from "Cocoon Swoon," by Mitchell Grant Smith.
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Sunday, May 23, 2004
In perpetuum
For some people,
they do not see;
and for other people,
they do use
those two eyes,
while those others,
stiched, blind,
do not;
i believe,
that seeming as i am not,
that i cannot stand
some people;
and these people
are those who do not know
empathy
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Saturday, May 22, 2004
Cellar Door
Donnie Darko. . .such a great movie.
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dsaofpueoihjdoifhdsofjhdsfjkhbbdsfguijsbdjksandhjksa
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So go ahead.
Just another face
In a crowd
I walk
What is this sound?
I feel it
All around
I try to
Have something left
To hold onto
Something left to say
But I find
It is all much like
A crumpled piece
Of paper of trash of rubbish
In a garbage
Bin
I do not
Like being cared
For
I do not
Like being here
Every day is
A brand new day
With me
Walking about
Wondering what
It used to feel
Like
I push it all away. . .
I'll push it all away
I will
Push
It
All
Away
Give it
All Away
Throw it
All Away
Make it
Go Away
See it gone
I never
Want to be
Like you
I never want
To be like you who
Smiles at this world
I never want
To be like you
You who
Smiles
At
This
World
Your smile
On your lips
Is a contrived
Happiness
Your smile
On your lips
Is fake
It does not exist
I know, I do
What you feel
Deep down
You can hide it
Say life is
Beautiful, wonderful
Eternal, great
You can tell me
You have will to live
But deep down
There is shaking
There is destruction:
Beyond our poised appearance
We are out of
Control
And I
Am another face
In the crowd
Another waste
Of time
I can feel
Everything die
For we are
But a blink
Of an eye
We are but
Dust in the wind. . .
We are but
A place where it begins
Our place
In this universe
Is the smallest
And you the smaller
And I the small
We go about
Our ways
Thinking we make
A difference
When we do not make
A difference at all
I want to see a certain breeze touch the lips of mine
I want to see a certain disease
poison all this wine
I want to see a certain sting
open up the inside
I want to see a fallout
of a world gone in time.
The end is all I see
The beginning is far away
I have stayed here too long
I have outweighed my stay
One day
This race of mankind
Will find itself
At its end
It will find
That this long dredge
Has ended
In apocalypse
In an armaggedon
And if I were alive then
I would smile and greet death warm
For on this world, we plague about--
A swarm
And we live this existence
For this world we have called born
And it is not the real world, but the world torn
Divided to function as a machine
To not live life to all it has
It is here I find there is nothing
Left for me
What I need is an end
I need release
I need to be set free
I care not about this world
I care not to let it govern me
I would just as soon be set free
Or never even be
Or have to see
For it is blinding me
One day
--I see it flash before my eyes--
Our race
Will be gone, forever
Our struggles for nothing
But death.
And I think
In this world today
There is something more important
Than that education
Than that bill that needs to be paid
Than that job that they say you need to work
It does not have to be this way
This world is superficial, material,
It is a neon distraction
Open up your eyes--open them wide
Do you not surmise
That you live your life not for yourself
But for that which you most despise?
And one day
--Our race,
our mankind--
For our struggles,
for our battles,
we will die.
If I am alive
When it happens
I will smile
The most happy
Smile I have
Ever smiled
Upon my face
In my memory.
It would be as
real as a child's smile.
It would not be
A smile such as
The one I see
From you who
Is happy with this
World.
So go ahead
Worry about tomorrow
While I worry about the end
So go ahead, worry about how
You're going to afford to live
While I see that life is a given right
And should not be taxed, should not be
Suffered, should not be a machine.
I hope one day
You will come to see
And believe
How useless your life was
How you threw it away
To this status quo,
this endless go
At nothing.
So go ahead
Worry about petty things--
About getting your college degree,
About getting your "love."
For in this world,
there is little happiness.
There is only
Contrived
Happiness,
A figment,
A lie.
There is only love
Where you are blind.
Love is not real,
It is only in your mind.
The only thing real
Is that your body
Is an organic
Mortal,
Breakable
Weak
Puny
Existence.
What your body gives you
And shows you
Is all you will ever know.
And I, I want to go beyond
This body, I want you to know
That what you feel doesn't matter.
It is just an illusion.
This pain is all an illusion,
the only thing that is real is nothing.
In nothing there is the most beauty.
Nothing is what came you,
and nothing is what will take you
back to where you came from.
So go ahead
Go right
Ahead
Fret over
Anything
Over everything
In this society, this unreal world,
this hell-hole over your eyes.
So go ahead
I'm just gonna close these eyes
And yearn for death to release me
To take it all away.
Death might hurt,
But I am not afraid.
It will not hurt
As much as
This world
Has hurt me.
Nor will it hurt
As much as living
My whole life
Would.
And will.
I'm just gonna close these eyes
Gonna hide. . .
Just gonna close these eyes
and hide.
Why was I given this life
When I just want to take it away?
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