superstition stuck.

2009-03-04T18:40:00.002-06:00

children jump and beneath their falls, the dead ones fly.

2009-03-04T17:44:00.000-06:00

try dying as i might i'll die die die by my my my own hands.

2009-02-18T20:35:00.003-06:00

i know how it feels to know how it felt, and it feels like a rotten vanity picture frame, fuzzy and curved from several years of damp deterioration.

a wax grey dulled dingy starving picture frame.

2009-02-12T21:25:00.008-06:00

your voice was always a

yawn, croak, a wart to the

holes in my starving

head.

my dull face, a silver sliver in

your stare is the seven-year-

strain for breath, break in the

glass plate surrounding--

Fresh bent limbs twitch

a grip at

nothing for something.

Your voice began to

stretch, caught cut cold

my bone and mush a

frozen spoil.

2009-02-05T20:43:00.005-06:00

somewhere inside the space where magic meets molecule, i am writhing--crazed by pain and death. but my mind is thinking about head-sized prism-esque candies.

while at work this afternoon, a girl told me that 2012 will begin the chaotic mergence of a collective conscious. something inside me tells me all that will do is empower people to become addicted to more things, other people, themselves.

shopping list: burnt red veined curtains.

to begin

2009-02-01T20:33:00.004-06:00

I am wiggling and hardening in stained glass. Violet. My eyelashes burn, there is a grape-sized pain pushing its way through to the ends. There are terrorists inside my eyelids—any screen, any surface smooth enough to carry light excites millimeters-long razorblades inside my eyelids so that each blink is war torture. I try to stop blinking.

What the fuck did I do? What the fuck do I do?

There are snapping noises. Short, quick, spark-like snaps. I’m on my floor and each muffled click fills my skull with an atomic explosion; my brain, my face is ripping in two. I’m melting. I’m still quaking and hardening in some stained glass. Red, blue. Help me, I manage to think. Help me, I try to will my thoughts to my neighbor.

Each muscle takes turns betraying me. Stabbing me. My stomach muscles are trying to depart from their cozy home beneath my skin. I can’t blink, but I can’t look at my torso. My neck muscles could be plucked and would hum. Razorblades in my eyelids, upset guts. Head hanging open.

There isn’t an easy way to resign to pain. The decision to stop wanting to scream was a hard one to make, almost impossible. The tears making their way from my air shot eyes scalded my face. Mercury from a broken thermometer streamed down and boiled my flesh on their way to the floor where I lay dying.

My mind burnt white with streams of melted glass sticking onto and searing the insides. Yellow. It was a near impossibility to bargain with God or whoever. I will never… Again… Won’t do… Can’t… Will be the best…

I will do anything!

One hope: for my body to lose its pride and fall blissfully asleep and away from the pain. I’d read somewhere that when it’s too much for the body, it’s too much. Only this pain was too cunning. Half second teases, safe for one breath or blink and then my blood, bones and skin were sent back to a boil, a broil—charred.

Tonight I fall.

2009-01-26T20:23:00.003-06:00

"Take these: branches from my tree of life."

the glory

2009-01-19T15:28:00.004-06:00

something important came and went without so much of a
coffee
wisp or the
scratch-click of a distant bike's
gear shift

i missed the message; my
punishment is delayed
vision, a tissue-
film
drag a minute’s wake over
my eyes.

old see, i see things
rotten
over ripe
bruised or wrinkled bowing.

the world lay before me a
burrowed fuzz and all i did
was
come up short, just this
once.

2009-01-19T11:08:00.002-06:00

this year's winter has impregnatned my sinuses with something ferocious.

when our hemisphere thaws, i wouldn't be surprised if
brown and black roots spread across the whites of my
eyes instead of frantic rust-colored veins.

a carnivorous bulb is turning somewhere inside my ears
or in my neck and each time i swallow i can feel a
vine

2009-01-12T21:44:00.003-06:00

a little while before my eyes close on 12th of this month, i've chosen to listen to a song that i will undoubtedly enjoy until the day my eyes won't open.

the volume at which i listen to this song affects the muscles in the back of my neck--neon filled buzzing bits of song bearing self shattering tightrope tenderness.

i really, really enjoy this song.

morning glory

2009-01-10T11:42:00.002-06:00

how much woulda coulda gun tempt me

if purchased it were on the second story

one such gun woulda coulda tempt me,

if deaf or blind or alone i were surely

if i had a gun it woulda coulda tempt me,

my throat brains teeth on the morning glory.

2009-01-06T19:40:00.000-06:00

Oh for fuck's sake.

2009-01-04T13:23:00.004-06:00

I died this morning due to over imbibing in the consumption of alcohol.

I was at a bar celebrating a friend's birthday. At first, I paced myself relatively well. A drink every hour or so.

I stopped taking care and eventually stopped talking. I can't remember seeing. I couldn't taste or touch.

What I do remember is the familiar scent of a friend's home. I remember hurting as my organs and blood protested the invasive poison that I put in my body.

I threw up a lot. I vomited and vomited and bled and hurt and cried. And then I slept. And then I drowned in my blood and vomit.

Drunk death is a stop motion voyage on the sea's floor.

2009-01-02T19:26:00.003-06:00

A rhythm tick and tock

a deceleration, a motor skill

skid, one tucked plump thought:

was he the wrong man, or was it

you?

2008-12-26T17:55:00.003-06:00

Sometime soon, we'll listen to a song and you'll want to stay a longer than you might have planned.

struck by lightning

2008-12-22T19:46:00.003-06:00

I was struck by lightning today. It all happened when I was taking a walk outside to smoke a cigarette.

I always worry about getting struck by lightning. My worries cease only in the wintertime. I think that's really stupid, that I don't worry about things when everything around me tries to fool me into thinking that 'all is well,' or however it's put.

I don't remember where exactly I was on my walk. I can't really remember what I might have been looking at. I was on my back, with my arms above my head while my feet were pointed so hard they cramped.

After my body stopped burning from the inside and simmered to a sting on the outside, I managed to stand up and walk back home.

My parents both looked at me and my mom laughed.

"Looks like you've got some serious wind-burn, Steve," she snorted.

I smell my body and it smells like overcooked tomatoes and toast.

little

2008-12-21T19:36:00.004-06:00

I was shot and killed this evening on the Northwest line of the Metra, heading home from spending a few days with my boyfriend.

I was seated on the second level of the train, near the car's lavatory. An electrified man, Hispanic-looking, entered the bathroom and flipped the occupied switch on, so the sign outside of the toilet glowed cream yellow.

After only a few seconds, he abruptly unlocked the bathroom door while yelling at the top of his lungs, "Die by my hand and you will all have white wings."

My music was still playing in my iPod, but I can't remember the song. He fired gun and shot at the roof of the car first. My eyes swept along the gunman's face, but I can't remember it right now.

I was the first person he shot and killed, I think. He hit me below my right eye, and then on the top right of my forehead. I died by his hands, but I'm still sitting on the top level of the train listening to some song.

My boyfriend will ask my parents and/or my sister for my journal. They'll go through my room, they'll feel embarrassed for finding the disk of terrible porn I took from an old friend's place. They'll eventually find my journal, and Mike will take it.

My sister will start to drink a lot. My mom will join her. My dad, well, he'll just drive. My mom and sister will grow to hate me, and my dad, who used to hate me, will grow to miss me. All the while, they won't bury me because it just wouldn't do. Steve's still asleep in his room, he's still asleep and that's all right.

My cat will outlive me, and then she'll die... The feline representation of me will die, and then my boyfriend and my friends and my family will grow to hate me and they'll all take the train somewhere before they die, too.

2008-12-09T16:56:00.002-06:00

you defied a carnivorous suitor, you
rallied a fight within me. the
fibers between bone and skin just below
the dip you cupped into me;
you have no idea the depths to which my teeth
sunk into a delightful displeasure of my own
resistance.

2008-11-30T14:05:00.002-06:00

Where was I,
i asked myself the other night,
who i was is no problem to remember.

i was pregnant. small/tall shadow,
caught colour vibrant otherness, the
stone beneath my feet set my steps in
loco motion.

i was a young boy. i saw the ground as
i used to see it on the 4th of July—Earth's
fur waxed and reflected the sky's percussion.

i, for an instant, was something alive.

2008-11-24T15:16:00.004-06:00

no lighting bolts or mind-splattered-glass, no;
my eyes disconnect and flatten.

paper thin, states extended, my favourite is to
float along
curved, kicked, softened, ripple-rolled,
hovered adrift for however long the sun stays;

nail to finger, veil to sea.

2008-11-14T13:08:00.002-06:00

marching out of my
ears are bands and
batons swinging or
twinkling, the ones
burrowed in the
gay glass the gayass
glass the spinning
mirror the light repellent
the halo that huddles
that hoards this thing
like a net, a piece of
paper is a net.

2008-11-14T13:06:00.002-06:00

i hate the mirror shot in horror movies.

there is something incredibly satisfying about freshly trimmed nails.

fore mour

2008-11-05T12:25:00.006-06:00

how quick will my
heart beat beneath a
ribcage of flagpoles?

what do i do if i feel
the devil's tail tickling
my back, what do i say?

i'll a straw in my mouth
just below the spilled blood
and take empty breaths.

a sigh an echo

2008-10-28T21:00:00.002-05:00

woozy when they waved out from behind
teeth, to the land across several
tracks and threads of water.

dizzy the currents stirred and whirred
and stuck-smash in a face—your
face, wind whipped and tender.

a flood flung and hung about your
hair, your bones newly bathed beneath
this luxury to see; a splendor to soften, soak.

un/fortunate

2008-10-27T15:13:00.002-05:00

i have lead inside my eyelids and wax falling
freezing stopping between my
heart and sternum.

i have an ocean of fiber ready to lick my skin
to fondle a submission and connect through
bone to brain to grope just
so, just to sleep

2008-10-16T12:45:00.002-05:00

an unrelenting yelp
to each continuing vital,
a segmented survival
chirps by through
rule and rhyme, fallen
from your pen.

several great groans
to dryly cough beneath your
grip
so to steer opposite
the current,
so to find a
fingerprint in
the sea.

to the left of the room, before the lights were turned back on

2008-10-09T14:19:00.004-05:00

one coffee dew
drop frozen hanging
brown, strings locked
above some pale
stranger, lined and linen
on soft gold.

a symmetry of
strong caves breathe or
rise and tense, golden soft
pale strong caves, a
garden on his back.

2008-10-08T16:12:00.003-05:00

Why won't these four
to each of my sides
crack quick fast
like the several hundred
hardened fibers
just off center—
pinned to the left.

Can't time still show
My neon shadow is Pulse—
the pressure to your left,
my knee, can that still
breathe?

someone asleep

2008-10-05T00:03:00.002-05:00

What I see is you sleeping and I see
I feel I can be just as brilliant, I
am awake and I am birthing; you greenly
move you slight and weave across a cotton
winded, suffocated.

A face in sleep is a dumb face, I am
romanced by symbol and piano while
you're fucked by explosions behind
your eyelids. Your contrast is bent
beyond any darkness; asleep you're
deep in sleep and you're still the most
beautiful thing I could ever hope to see.

a white mailbox with its lid open.

2008-10-02T15:48:00.002-05:00

he was a man with colours jumbled about his feet. the wind wrote him a letter, and he read it. he read the entire thing one and a half times. he stood alongside the afternoon and from his fingertips spilled colour in gritty cursive bursts.

Sand-filled colour flurried and tumbled from his fingertips, and soon after, the letter from the wind found itself stained by the complexions scattered about this man's feet.

he read the letter one and a half times, and the first to shatter and crumble were his hands.

a white mailbox with its lid open.

match

2008-10-01T15:31:00.002-05:00

i am the quick crisp
after a light and you
smell missiles and
breaks in the sky and
i remain an assailant,
hush is my mainstay;
puff scent meander you
will all kill me.

would you be happy with a love song?

2008-09-29T10:34:00.003-05:00

i came here with some collection of rants tied around my hair in bows, but i've forgotten which ones they are.

it's like the wind might have taken them off of my head on my way down the hall, off of my head and out of the air.

2008-09-24T15:53:00.001-05:00

how hollow a memory reads on screens
when atop— we were on a bed a king's bed we kings
sloped forward, our foreheads warmed and glowed.
Out of your mouth, the air, the window, out from space
some starlight sang and you slurred diamonds, riches
spices, you Spoke to me.

Simultaneously, cocooned in blush and stretched lips,
I forcefully smiled into plush and experienced birth by
means of hiding my face so you wouldn't fear the colour
crooning from my eyes, the colour I turn each time you're
near.

I could have been plucked from that instant, been grooved
pressed and pulled, I could have been seeded worldwide
and I say with no heavier truth than this:
I would have grown the world over.

2008-09-24T13:23:00.005-05:00

every hue has half a grain of sand in it, today.
up above i see stalactite waves and down below i
see a coast.

a woman jumps, and her braid comes undone.
a young man struggles to light his cigarette, he
gives up.

throbbing between them is a pattern snaking its
way onto their flesh around their fingernails and
to the tips of their eyelashes,

they become who i love, who i cherish, space-time
and refreshment, with me i tuck them in to sleep.

ill

2008-09-17T12:37:00.002-05:00

Something in my blood, there, in my right
forearm, the pale underarm of my forearm
there is something tickling and moving a few
three or four hairs, I can see feel it inside of
me.

2008-09-17T12:27:00.002-05:00

a turtleneck is covering my neck, each
thread is part of an instrument, Harp,
Organ, Violin,

and each seam is brought together by
a voice her voice is singing; I do so

Wonder if the population that walks from
one side of my window to the other, do they
wonder about me? Because sometimes I

remove my limbs from their sockets they
flail around my room like flies, batting themselves
away from each other; and when they're tired
and fat enough from their heavy pregnancies
they fall and reconnect to the rest of me, releasing their
capped little larvae into my bloodstream, I

never know what to do when I go blind.

2008-09-14T17:28:00.003-05:00

i had to blink my eyes, the lids-they,
like blouses,
drawn, laced about my lanterns.

their dainty fortresses have been seduced,
for along the pale acres of ache that creation
flung in patches of peach, soft salt
drifts and invades each passing pore.

i cannot say anything right, so i will let
silence do my bidding. Heaven forbid
i decide to sing, God knows that each
breath would set you afloat and away.

how can they do that? how could you do that?

2008-09-08T22:44:00.004-05:00

i can't imagine using the beauty that came from two, for only one. the pulp, the concentrated glory that was two ripped apart to have a trickled fibrous outline on one edge... it hurts to look at it, much less to touch it.

a picture of two used for one.

2008-09-08T17:33:00.001-05:00

Looked East and remembered the last time I touched the corner of your smile, and I smiled.

just after she jumps

2008-09-04T12:57:00.000-05:00

though inside this curtain of dim,
i'm swaying to the gentle breeze
between a woman's feet and the Earth
just below them, just before she lands,
just after she jumps.

breaths just below her feet and i am
on the ground crimping in my curling skin,
and i'm baring my teeth to the sun, just
after she jumps.

inside my chest are caves in need of a thorough spring cleaning

2008-09-04T08:23:00.003-05:00

this morning i woke up and my room was rather cold.

i took hold of my comforter and pulled it up to my bottom lip.

had my alarm not been set for fifteen minutes from that moment, that fabric warmth and continuous cool would have sent me spinning away from here, comfortably flat on an egg crate.

2008-09-02T19:35:00.005-05:00

at this very moment, i feel as though there is someone or a number of someones who have taken my words and left them swinging all by themselves.

they're fearful things-they're shaky and scared, my words.

i want them back.

I think if I ever have a child, I will name him or her Echo.

2008-09-02T12:36:00.012-05:00

Nothing entirely incredible to report, other than that I have a slight fever. Though, it could be because it's somewhere near ninety degrees Fahrenheit outside my dorm room window.

I've had to change my shirt twice today because I've sneezed and left splotches of mucus on near the bottom of said shirts.

In a little over an hour, I have to take a quiz on the different physical components of a digital camera. I'm not entirely nervous, and that's not because I've studied. It's just because I feel I retain knowledge fairly well, and my professor already went over each of the different components... I'm not sure I really feel like I need to review. I probably will, though.

This room is in desperate need of a good vacuuming. My clothes are in need of a good washing. I ought to take care of my laundry tomorrow. Maybe I'll even wash my bedding. Probably not, though.

I think if all goes well and according to plan, Mike should be out here again this weekend. I don't think I'll be sick anymore, by the time he gets out here. My chest is already de-congesting, my nose is running an awful lot. I've been pretty good about taking vitamin c and the like.

I wish I had something deep or profound to write; my words have been pretty shallow, lately. It's like the roots to my creative side have been three-hole-punched and put in a binder I forgot to bring on my move back to DeKalb. I also think a lot of it has to do with me feeling like I'm kind of like our planet Earth... where my rotation is tilted, I'm teetering on some sort of vacuum. That vacuum is the uncertainty of a meltdown, and I seem to write my "best" stuff when I'm doing something that I feel isn't really all that great or when I'm really sad. That being said, I don't really feel like I'm too terribly sad right now.

It's almost as if I'm looking at someone else's creations of sadness... A sandcastle, soaked together with sadness or some sort of solar system paper-maché, sopped together with newspaper marinated in sad, sorry water. I appreciate all of these creations, I really enjoy them, because I've been and will undoubtedly be a creator of such things, again. (After having had some trouble with that last sentence, I'm now surer than ever that I sell self-fulfilling prophecies.) In any case, these people with these pitiful, janky, asymmetrical, scratched and cracked formations, I'll always welcome them into my heart--there's something about the nature of a sad person that isn't sad. Maybe it's just the way I can feel everything I say to them... echo inside their always-dilated pupils.

I understand that it's rather selfish or arrogant to want to hear this echo that almost glows against the hairs inside your ears, but dammit... That echo seems to croon or serenade with a slow moving, oceanic slack and drag... It's better than any night spent alone feeling sorry for yourself while listening to your favourite music or watching your favourite movie or doing your favourite anything.

I think if I ever have a child, I will name him or her Echo.

Albuterol, USP; Inhalation Aerosol.

2008-09-01T14:06:00.005-05:00

i slapped my readings against my thigh, you can read my thighs, all because i

i have to go, i am leaving to go to a "homework party" which consists of ordering food and flirting with the idea of doing homework while actually having more fun than you would if it were an actual party.

huzzah, hooray, horking up my left lung and bits of my sternum. (read: huzzah, and hooray.)

2008-08-31T17:31:00.004-05:00

My thoughts are parallel and harmonizing.

I miss you. Things are much more tolerable when you're around.

But then again, things are easier after two or a few sips wine.

Not as good, but comparable.

i think i have mono, again.

2008-08-29T17:06:00.004-05:00

differences grow all around us-sometimes on us like flakes of mold. dust rocks. wax flaps.

the elements of seeing one thing die, while simultaneously watching another sky rocket and take off far away from you is numbingly painful-which is a really interesting process.

there are only fifteen more weeks of my youth, and after which, my days of loving will be composed of me talking to myself, only swinging on the swings and tumbling down the stairs I didn't properly ascend.

in the meaning of all the bad things

2008-08-28T15:17:00.004-05:00

i like how i sound when i sing, today.
this is a sign that trouble is on its way. i think trouble is the wrong term.

pain. there is pain on the way.

there are parts of my body that shine and shimmer

2008-08-25T12:11:00.003-05:00

in the world that i see, there is an abundance of rust and mold. these nasties are something of a burn--blisters in the absence of what makes my heart feel good: to make your heart feel good.

like most elements outside of my window, i'll keep bending toward the light, crashing into screens and scraping at the soles of shoes and sandals. i'll still Love and Love and Love, no matter how soon or impossible an armageddon is.

2008-08-24T18:23:00.001-05:00

i'm fully by myself in this dorm room.
i'm listening to music i did this weekend, maybe i won't feel too lonely.
i'm bouncing my leg in anticipation for this semester.

i'm finally realizing that oceans are life and beaches are luxuries.

a day of honest work.

2008-08-20T15:29:00.001-05:00

i started writing a message to a guy i got to know really well earlier this year, today. the message started out with me saying hi to him, then saying that i couldn't see him when he thought he might be free to do something.

the message went on. i responded to his anecdote about dreams. i said i was sorry for the fact that his dream was not good (he said his dream wasn't good), and that i do not like to dream. i really don't like to dream.

i ended the message with me asking him to tell everyone i said 'hi.'

after i wrote the message, i finished up a lot of laundry and decided that i ought to go over to the DoubleTree to hand in my uniform and say goodbye to everyone.

i went over to the DoubleTree with my uniform in a grocery bag, my nametag was in there too. one of my favorite co-workers was working at the front desk; she took my right hand in both of hers when i came up to her desk. it was a really lovely moment, i moved my hand towards hers and she just held it and said that i was blessed. i will miss her a lot.

she let me in to the back office and everyone back there crowded around me, patting my back, squeezing my arm, smiling. they all said that they really liked working with me, and that they will all really miss me. the majority of them were all pleasures to work with. they want me to come back around Christmas to help out. i said i'd probably be back.

in any case, the reason why i'm writing is because i was listening to a song that made me feel like i was on a boat on really calm waters. it brought the feeling of my balance being subtly embraced and softly leaned to the right or left.

there are always clouds in my eyes after i wake up.

2008-08-20T09:57:00.009-05:00

in just over twenty-four hours, i will no longer be living in my parent's house. though it's highly unlikely, this may very well be the last time i will actually be taking up residence in their home. they want me to move to Florida after i graduate.

the subject i've chosen to major in presents very little interest to me.

[edit; 12:12pm 08/20/2008]
i had some rather personal information typed here, but i've decided to remove it.

i'm learning.

ciara is heavily entertaining.

2008-08-18T17:56:00.003-05:00

smoking a cigarette.
helping cook dinner.
eating dinner.
using the bathroom.
smoking a cigarette.
cutting my stomach open.
removing years by the fistfuls.
sewing myself together.
going to bed.
waking up and showering.
going to Six Flags.

once i was great.

2008-08-02T15:32:00.001-05:00

vine-ing along the sides of a harmony
are several pieces of glass and wood.
their invasion, their leftover scratches and
wounds breathe and bleed states of
delayed motion, they twirl a trip and spit
one's skin separate from their bones, all
the way over there.

the dirt on the walls makes this place look burnt.

2008-07-22T13:26:00.011-05:00

no one will read this. i'm posting these words out of sunken hope.

what a rugged man i
am sliding down some
Morning Glory rescuing my
skin from an ocean of
evaded marrow.

what a rugged man i
am spinning around these
halls with a tablecloth sewn
to my hips, my calves are
metallic—i am three inches
lifted, i am shifting atop a
blond floor, i am bloated and
breaking.

what a wily boy i
am burying a holy man
and a gardener into the
roots they're constantly
sweating to harvest as truths.

2008-07-15T20:29:00.003-05:00

kiss me, Kate Moss, and will I have gravel left on my mouth?

kiss me, Kate Moss, and will something plump or fade or simultaneously transmit the shell of sensation across radio signals, so that my brain may be poked or stuck rather than held or stroked?

kiss me during this song, and you might find your face slowing along the side of a glass, you might find me kicking around in the small pools of leftover red or brown.

2008-07-10T20:08:00.003-05:00

i raised my hand and was hooked by the fingernails and whirred around and inside the guts of a machine. i sucked at gears and sung to springs and bounced off of negative and positive flows of power. someone found me, all too intoxicated, dry humping some mechanical component. when they asked what i was doing i told them i was saving rain forests.

2008-06-30T09:39:00.002-05:00

i was staring toward the elevators and my eyes anchored upon a flight attendant waiting for the doors to open. she smoothed her key-card across her face.

i don't believe anything i see.

2008-06-24T21:22:00.005-05:00

the boney grandparent fingers, the space vacuum wintriness, the summer sole scrape along sandpaper pavement,

(i sleep beneath the aforementioned images or sensations.)

my days consist of flicking and filing through thousands of eyelids, plump with balloon static and fruit meat.

skin stained face

2008-06-22T22:42:00.004-05:00

alongside musty furniture and souvenirs, bathroom adornments hallway decorations, homey frill-i will lay out my voice, fingertips and hair. my spoil, your treasure.

the cursor will align with a few simple notes on a piano, through teary eyes i'll write about a sunrise or a morning with a smooth storm stroking everyone's brow while they rise.

you'll find me here whispering to a plant.

have a lovely june seventeenth.

2008-06-17T10:15:00.003-05:00

today, i left yesterday's waste
in the toilet and in the trashcan
and in my bed and on my floor
and on the passenger seat of a
friend's car.

i have to work in half an hour
and i won't have washed my hands
nor will i have brushed my teeth or
combed my hair. i will be the vomit-
green bubbling from your gills.
i will be the whiteout fumes impregnating
your sinuses with sea monkeys.

i'll am the paper cutting slice stab scratch
shriek-squeal that ruins your appetite.

the evening hung her moon

2008-06-09T21:45:00.004-05:00

the evening hung her moon
in my closet and when i came
home from work a fly a dead one
hung stuck to the wire and every
bulb in my home was hollowed
or haunted by some autumn where
someone i'd known had left for good;
the evening is bad with her bills
she's bad at growing plants, and
awful at remembering to
close the windows
before going to bed.

weakness

2008-06-06T14:54:00.003-05:00

my eye, once still,
darts to the river near the bell
and under the bridge your
shadow leans against
a school of fish, the water is
wearing a silver sequenced dress
and i am a mile or two away,
listening to the sound of your
silhouette.

2008-05-27T17:27:00.003-05:00

i found a paper fig on the sand today, and out of its mouth grew blond and black hairs. it was dark though it was noon, and each fiber glowed pink at their ends.

lucky that it was night though it was noon and the shell lit my way home.

2008-05-22T17:13:00.001-05:00

stay tuned.

hopeless

2008-05-15T18:11:00.003-05:00

the soulless-ness between each
cotton note/each soft fibrous noise,
is where i lay my head tonight.
somewhere below sea level, suck-
kissed by space's vacuum

my hair will be braided.

when you dream

2008-05-12T21:41:00.002-05:00

scrape a secret from
the palm of a sea shell
and from that dust or pulp
comb out the silent
eyelash twitches you felt
on your ribs or chest and
breathe quiet as you do
when you dream. you'll
be home soon.

2008-05-11T16:19:00.003-05:00

(i moved in a sick way
tornadoes a sick sway
all cooked under black clay)

i dreamt it again.
these instruments pushed
something up to the clouds.
it my body, i was naked and
pained; i was still asleep, dreaming of
it again.

"arrange a sin, sit me in."

thank you, sir, for the misery plant

2008-05-10T18:36:00.003-05:00

the petals fall from your
beard and eyelashes,
the stem swells from
your neck, the bulb pulses from
your left eye.

your right eye is the manure
the shit wherein this plant
hardly bends toward a prime.

while you are gone

2008-05-06T16:32:00.006-05:00

my darling, I cannot
say the sun
stitches into my skin
any more than it does
to the
pale depths of a
forgotten well.

The soup at the bottom
digests itself, and soaks
all stone to wax.

I melt as a stale mess,
as a sallow sigh,

the breath the stones
lose, it rises and
rusts the Earth.

the ocean

2008-05-05T23:46:00.000-05:00

oh the invigoration, the excellence in a sweet
sea foam to wrap myself tightly between bubble
and spume. i say good day to the sea and slip
past sand

she'll never know my salt.
i will drink hers
slow,
she'll
never know
what pitches
inside her.

electro rise

2008-05-02T14:10:00.000-05:00

it was you, in my
visions, reaching into
my chest. i had
lily pads made from
cement, wrapped tight
around my sternum.
there were ancient boulders
cracked hatched tumbling
inside my ribcage, parented
by the print of your peel.

i awoke in the afternoon and
it was you, above my torso--
your arm slick sunk into my
chest, my skin stung with each
lash from the hair of your flesh
and the wound it wrapped tight
around your arm; you held
my very being, you clenched my
pipes and wires from the inside.

2008-04-29T20:39:00.001-05:00

Men have hands,
honed for hurting.
One or few have
ponds or scum
floating in their
irises. A sharp few
unravel and
live chalked down and
undressed as hunted
prisoners. But they
rape rile rig, with
triumphant beads of
blood circling their
fingers--a lust for
affliction, I see
no difference between
the pain you pick at,
and the shoulders they
tried to root.

listen up.

2008-04-26T14:14:00.004-05:00

late last night

do you remember, Jess?

2008-04-24T15:40:00.001-05:00

i said to look at those
eyelashes.
you said you had, and
those eyelashes were
yours for the taking.
or maybe you said
you'd never be the same.
matter of fact i think
all you did was smile.

some mornings are strange and still

2008-04-24T15:35:00.002-05:00

a man and and a woman
in the morning. a
likable passion between the
pair tangles among the ends
of dark and light threads.

he's awake, she breathes deep.
his eyes on the ceiling, his
hand on her hip, her breathing
still deep.

This is swollen, and
skewed, they
lay in the round of a
dew drop.

a man and and a woman in
in the morning, in a bed.
he closes his eyes again, and
her breathing is deep.

when won't the wind?

2008-04-24T15:34:00.002-05:00

when won't the wind?
when the trees bend to
breath or break from
blade.
The ground won't green.
but grey and rise as
smoke, to slither through
the sky.
Our skin will stone, not
soften; there is more
light at night and
may God take us
when our lungs
hurt us heavy.

when days slump,

2008-04-23T12:50:00.002-05:00

when days slumps,
where the sky sags,
where the wind won't,
when the day shrugs,
while the ground cracks,
when the day sighs,
when the air whines,
we should all
go back to bed,
and we will wake
as breeze, and our
spines will crack,
the sky won't hang,
the ground won't sink,
the day won't
droop.

photo booth

2008-04-19T15:50:00.001-05:00

the way things are inside are likened
to two people posing for a picture, their
faces pushed against and spreading across
a plastic barrier.

they're blushing barely as two, they're
pinking together as one. the way things
are inside are likened to these two people
reddening and perspiring, they're face
to face and body to body

they're captured, and the way things are
inside are likened to their photograph.

soft salutation

2008-04-17T02:32:00.000-05:00

a skin is light it
set across my page.
I saw pores plump
with a corona.

Or, perhaps it was
padded with the rings of
a rock, a gas, a liquid
something kicked back
and up and floating
along an invisible quilt.

I smile at the
page that is pregnant
with the sun, soft
salutation, so I
see it set,

and the page is dim.

barbie

2008-04-12T14:41:00.002-05:00

i've held onto and
heaved the last two or three weeks like breasts
too large for a drip to support, so i
shall lay beneath a lamp to see
what part of me is ready for war and if all
goes well, I'll melt.

the window i was sitting next to

2008-04-09T21:58:00.000-05:00

a broom, I drew a broom
I saw a broom drawn
below the window, this broom
I could have gone out
and bought a broom,
this broom, drawn or purchased,
it swept into my nose and I
sneezed. Six times. I drew,
I bought, I sneezed, I sneezed, I
sneezed, I sneezed, I sneezed,
I sneezed.

a leak, among the window a
leak splashed a firework in
drops on the window. the air
conditioning pissed, and it
splashed a celebration of
drops on the glass and each time
the spill spread like
crystal on a neck or cheek
or mirror, a slow continental
shift, a shimmer this leak exploded.

tunetoon

2008-04-09T13:34:00.004-05:00

These past few moments, I've been playing with my voice among a song.

If I were to record myself, I might just be happy with it. Lauren gave me the song, and I wish I could give you mine.

I was told by some far off person or thing (the head that was on the couch when my head was on the couch) that I should sing to you. There's the curse: that rite was shackled or welded down in some clear hot glue or caulk way. I've said this before, maybe six or seven times before. Six or seven or eight years, in a sequence--I wish I could sing you to sleep.

But I'm okay with singing to myself. I don't much mind how I sound, I think I might actually like how I sound.

liftoff

2008-04-07T13:04:00.007-05:00

the way things feel during warmer days never carries on to the way things feel during colder days. what is too much to ask for won't ever be asked, for there is simply too much to ask. there are too many unanswered questions, even in answering all of the questions.

can life be reheated? broiled into rebirth? is life something that will just run flat, to where we won't be able to get anything out of the tube? where is the good stuff, the stuff we can use? is settling for humdrum... it?

you are you are you are you were.

2008-03-25T18:06:00.004-05:00

she lives in "New York, New York / City that never shuts up."
I live in DeKalb, Illinois, city that never speaks up.

Ruby/rose, you need to know, you need to guess, you've
already guessed: I'm no different!

Though, call me fucking crazy--I'm a fucking loon,
I've been around all god damned afternoon
and now? And now? And now? And NOW?
Now all I want is to hear this song.
Maybe with you around, too.

I've been saying what I've been writing out loud before I write it down
on here. I've kept quiet now, and I'll keep quiet.

Thursday will come as a
maroon shower, I will come
in a maroon shower, I will
come. I'll bathe and wash and
swish it around, stain my teeth
with it. My gums will sink and
blue, and I will breathe after
bathing in the maroon.

None of what I've written has made sense. Not one bit. None at all to me.

i became ill today, and i have no balance

2008-03-23T21:13:00.003-05:00

i've caught a fever, tonight a leaf
fell across my forehead and its
mint or cinnamon leaked seeped
sank across my skull, i'm warm
and worn. i'm patches to the
cloth i spun twice a ten prior.
and inside my throat there are
lily pads expanding and plump,
they're liftoff points for the tiny
pinches squatting in spit and
fires and trees, this river is hauling
illegal substances to the struck-
metal raising hell in my head.

2008-03-22T15:01:00.002-05:00

when i'm sad, songs last
longer.

float, but don't stray. i'll
be around planting seeds
in our garden, and chopping
wood for the fire.

to do(n't)

2008-03-20T20:19:00.005-05:00

don't ring your hands so much.
don't pinch your knuckle skin as much.

you really need to stop pinching the skin on your knuckles.

itching your head or face when you're nervous in front of a group of people is obvious, especially the frequency in which you do it.
your lips can't bite back, so stop biting them.
you probably blink too much.

can there really be too much blinking?

get on your bike more. it's nicer out.
let hair and hands and feet feel you, feel him, feel free to feel freely in Love.

it's getting to be nicer out. let it be nicer out. it's getting to be nicer in.

don't pinch your knuckle skin.

2008-03-19T15:04:00.002-05:00

the station i'm at sounds like it's going to explode.

I have winked at a number of people today as Lucille Bluth does at her son Michael.
Six or seven burn victims later, and I've learned my lesson.

Oh, and I think I'll be taking a breather from this place, and will begin again
elsewhere. Though, you can't always believe a Mormon about his blogs.

I'm not Mormon.

pos tit note

2008-03-18T18:59:00.005-05:00

my brain felt like it needed to take a piss and apparently this place is its toilet. or shower. or coffee mug.

i was at a party once, and i really needed to piss. the bathroom was full and had a long wait-line. the inside of my lower half felt like it was being eaten alive by bats with razorblades for teeth. i was going to piss myself if i didn't find a place to go. i found an empty red cup, a tall empty red cup. i went into one of the rooms at the party, and locked the door behind me. there was a girl doing coke in that room--but she was my friend and i didn't care if she was in there while i pissed. i told her that i needed to pee and i heard her start to chop and separate another couple of lines. she was old school--typically used a credit card for the dirty work and an overused mcdonald's straw for the up and up.

i went in to that room's closet, unzipped my pants and took my dick in one hand and held the cup up to it with my other hand. this felt really weird to me. well, my dick didn't feel weird, though i'm fairly certain that there was already piss in my urethra before i unzipped my pants. what felt weird was the fact that i was holding something very near my crotch, collecting my own secretions. i was pissing and getting anxious--i hadn't yet finished and i was nearing the top of the cup. i announced this to my friend who i think at that point finished snorting coke, and i heard her laugh. i also told her to open the window. she did.

i zipped up, still having a fair amount of piss still in my bladder. i went over to the window and spilled my urine onto the cars and street 21 floors below me. i laughed and watched the liquid look like a gold sheet of tissue paper ripping into several little gold drops and diamonds. i returned to the closet, finished pissing and disposed of my pee out the window again.

i almost lied and said that i left the cup full of piss on the counter and saw someone taste it and throw the cup on the floor. the person who drank my piss would have been a guy, a tall guy shaved head, a regular guy with a shaved head. he would have been awkward and would have vomited in front of everyone, and then there'd be spilled piss and urine all over the floor. but it'd be on the kitchen tile, not on the carpet.

you're not here, tonight is going to suck.

2008-03-16T22:23:00.003-05:00

Every fourth of fifth heartbeat per minute bumps a bit harder in my chest, because it is during those beats that I'm thinking of you.

Tonight is going to suck.

fold in a gum pack

2008-03-15T19:29:00.007-05:00

the beauty in knowing that most everything that can go wrong actually has, well, it's wondrous. there aren't any jewels to wear that have that same shimmer or glow. there really isn't any glow. there are just orbiting rings of fog. discs of fog. wherever i walk, they're circling me vertically, circling my upper half, turning like wet cotton on a rubber belt. there really isn't any glow.

the uselessness in what i've become and who i am is incredibly overbearing. i didn't know that by being so quiet, i'd go deaf. i didn't know that by speaking, i'd lose my tongue to a piece of plush.

i'll wait for the Northern lights to come around; sometime when the sun sneezes or ejaculates so hard that our Planet's defenses get tickled and impregnated with glare. i'll wait for that to happen so i know i'll disappear into some green, purple, red or blue fog. i guess there is a little glow.

1 week

2008-03-15T17:01:00.003-05:00

i did all i've ever wanted to in one week.

no more ties to blood.
no more blood, because therew
eretoo
man
ytea
rs.

unnecessary.

and then you listened to the song
i wanted you to listen to. i'd been
waiting for 1 week.

No More

2008-03-14T16:56:00.001-05:00

I think the world might be a bit better if you'd stop letting its bodies of water run over with blood.

Stop the blood from overflowing. Stop it from overflowing.

untitled

2008-03-12T21:57:00.001-05:00

no foam froth no no salt or smash--
i hear scissors, i hear scissors crashing
into the sand instead of water, i hear
the slick swiping cutting my hair off
my nails off, my skin off; i hear scissors
crashing. i
don't cough because of the casualties
the Planet-covered in casualties, no.
i swear by the waves, i scream by
the waves, i
deposit my face into the waves
and i curse.

oh in that photo i do wish

2008-03-08T17:40:00.001-06:00

oh in that photo i do wish i were holding a
rose, one red rose stemmed rose no stem.
i wish i were holding a rose and giving that
rose to you, to you a ruby a rose. i would give
you a brethren a kin to your petals to your
blush and frailty.
oh in that photo i do wish i were holding a
rose, not a carnation because those are my
mother's favorite, the puff firework outward
and all around bloom is her favorite.
to you i would give you this proverb, a rose
this rose to you no stem, a rose stemmed
i would give you the upward bleeding head
just so you know, that in that photo i wish i
were holding a rose
to give
to you.

2008-03-05T21:21:00.001-06:00

I had a very nice conversation today
with a flowerpot's roses. They
told me about tonight's traffic, and
laughed when i said i was sad.
Then their petals fell onto my mouth
and now my lips feel softer than ever.

it was the awning with the rocks i learned to love

2008-03-05T21:18:00.003-06:00

everybody in this building
walks beneath
skeletons

A few of them still
have meat on their
bones. feathers, too.

i don't care if I get
sick, their skulls
still sing, I'll still
watch.

i happen to think that these words are worthless.

2008-03-04T14:42:00.002-06:00

there will be an everlasting elastic silence given here, sewn here inside my mouth pierced through each cheek.

i'm not doing very well, my rubies.

just for today, or maybe now, i know
that nothing is worth the kind cool kiss
of a greasy rust spot. i'll take your wicked
mistress tetanus you're gonna make my
dick balls and ass feel great when they
all fall off,

when we all
fall
down.

2008-03-03T15:06:00.006-06:00

while on the bus today, many feet happened upon a bottle of water.
each time it moved from one side of the bus to the other, it would sound
as fireworks or dishes being thrown onto a rug or carpet.

i've come back to this post several times in the past few hours, and
each time my brain has told my hands to type a sentence having to
do with some kind of obscurity or gloom. i know better than that, and
i know we're all happy one day and sad the other. i know i'm
going to have to go to the hardware store and fix a few things around
this place, i know i've got a lot of medicine i can't take, and i
know i'm going to get better with you and time around.

so, there.

safe and sound.

2008-02-29T22:49:00.003-06:00

i'm not scared that everyone left me in this room alone,
i'm not afraid that the smoke i drew in that i absorbed
is going to wart my insides, i know i'm warted and rashéd.

i also know the man next door wants nothing more
to do with me than the phone conversation he and i shared,
urging him not to shut down, urging him not to forget or
give up.

what i am and what he might be is not an illness. we're not
sick.

we're interesting. we're creators.