I spent last night dwelling on poor choices. This morning I woke up and wanted to meet someone to share creativity. Not someone who pretends to be creative. The difference lies in the lie.
Love Dance Infinite
She was twirling her hair with her finger,
grasping at stones,
throwing them gently
at glass houses.
I thought I heard the sound of concentration breaking.
wrapped together against her,
we competed for a dominant position,
to attach at the lip,
and I can still feel her hips.
I heard her exclaim,
"King of the Hill"
I was willing to give up the ground,
I feel her weight on my wrists.
We rounded each others bases,
mimicking gravitational lust,
while exhibiting polar opposites push,
all while being tangled tightly in bed sheets.
Her breath against the swell of my neck,
our legs intertwined,
the slow drag of her fingers,
raising goose flesh along my back.
Dawn nears through eastern facing windows,
colors catching white walls,
those shadows now stalking the edges,
of the corners of our room.
Peering deep into those mirrors,
noses grazing tips in circular fashion,
the soft press of pedaled lips,
I twirl your hair in my fingers.
Pause.
I thought I heard the sound of concentration breaking.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Friday, April 3, 2009
Something is Happening. Can You Feel It.
::Transmission Begin::
It is unquestionable, that in the belly of humans, there is a discontent with the imminent, a thirst to destroy, and a need to believe that material gains are the only way to prove that we are god's chosen few (the puritan work ethic). The majority of the world has bought in. That discontent with the imminent, whatever that beasts name be, boils in the blackest portions of our stomachs, eating at the lining of our hearts and tearing through our lungs. So that each breath be haunted with that disease. We know not its name because we choose to ignore it instead of face it head on. Finally that discontent meets the world and begins to destruct. Today, 12 men and women, were shot because of that gluttonous beast whose name we do not know, who lives in each of us, and unless we do battle with that beast will always remain in us. It will reside in the darkest trenches of our beings. It will fester and implode. I am in turn left with questions, is this is a message from God or are we forgotten with the rest? I was always taught that if you have the ability to stop the evils of this world, you should make full use of that ability. Even if your own life is lost in the struggle.
::Transmission End::
"Rise like lions after slumber,
In unvanquishable number!
Shake your chains to earth, like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you-
Ye are many; they are few!"
(Read from Howard Zinn's, "A People's History of the United States." Poem Written by Percy Bysshe Shelley and titled "The Masque of Anarchy."
It is unquestionable, that in the belly of humans, there is a discontent with the imminent, a thirst to destroy, and a need to believe that material gains are the only way to prove that we are god's chosen few (the puritan work ethic). The majority of the world has bought in. That discontent with the imminent, whatever that beasts name be, boils in the blackest portions of our stomachs, eating at the lining of our hearts and tearing through our lungs. So that each breath be haunted with that disease. We know not its name because we choose to ignore it instead of face it head on. Finally that discontent meets the world and begins to destruct. Today, 12 men and women, were shot because of that gluttonous beast whose name we do not know, who lives in each of us, and unless we do battle with that beast will always remain in us. It will reside in the darkest trenches of our beings. It will fester and implode. I am in turn left with questions, is this is a message from God or are we forgotten with the rest? I was always taught that if you have the ability to stop the evils of this world, you should make full use of that ability. Even if your own life is lost in the struggle.
::Transmission End::
"Rise like lions after slumber,
In unvanquishable number!
Shake your chains to earth, like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you-
Ye are many; they are few!"
(Read from Howard Zinn's, "A People's History of the United States." Poem Written by Percy Bysshe Shelley and titled "The Masque of Anarchy."
Thursday, March 26, 2009
These Colors Don't Run
I grew up in a city of wealth and prosperity, I grew up with two parents who loved me, and the environment that surrounded us fostered creativity, Now I watch it all crumble beneath my feet, in a crumbling economy, in a land of uncertainty, and fear makes me believe that nothing is coming, nothing better is coming and even now I watch Rome burn slowly.
And they all told me to pick my chin up, but I didn’t want to take my eyes off my own two awkward feet.
To fix our problems you gave us a uniform and watched the bodies pile to the sky, a youth so violent, so loyal, untrusting, self loathing, satisfaction seeking, self serving, and wasteful human beings. What do we owe them when they’ve given only their lives.And what happens to old fathers, their stories and tales, forgotten.Can we not learn from them?And what happens to old mothers, who’ve already seen their sons come home in a pine lined box.
So to rid myself of these pains, I buried myself under the dirt, and committed myself to the earth, waiting for flowers to grow.
WHEN HAPPINESS CEASES TO CREATE STABILITY, SEARCH FOR THE MOMENTS THAT YOU WERE ALIVE.
And they all told me to pick my chin up, but I didn’t want to take my eyes off my own two awkward feet.
To fix our problems you gave us a uniform and watched the bodies pile to the sky, a youth so violent, so loyal, untrusting, self loathing, satisfaction seeking, self serving, and wasteful human beings. What do we owe them when they’ve given only their lives.And what happens to old fathers, their stories and tales, forgotten.Can we not learn from them?And what happens to old mothers, who’ve already seen their sons come home in a pine lined box.
So to rid myself of these pains, I buried myself under the dirt, and committed myself to the earth, waiting for flowers to grow.
WHEN HAPPINESS CEASES TO CREATE STABILITY, SEARCH FOR THE MOMENTS THAT YOU WERE ALIVE.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Spit and Piss
these depths,
curling up inside,
already burning on crosses
they've built of dry timber,
etching out the means,
to feed humanity.
God give me the will,
to perish before I get,
to see the innocent rot.
I doubt my wishes will be granted (I've already seen it).
these depths,
hold secrets,
funneled into the darkest portions
of small intestines,
clutter the mess,
in piss and shit,
only to be revealed,
in the vowels rolling
off your tongue.
I hear the voices,
trembling spirits,
giving ghosts,
haunting sermons.
and in our darkest days, you'll always have complaints.
in these depths,
chastised servants,
bound by intelligence,
hands tied tight in knots,
un-bow their legs
so they may walk,
un-bound their mouths,
so they may speak,
lift the weight from their chests,
so they may breath,
or do you fear the,
plagues they would release.
I feel the hands,
grasping for the sun,
digging at the earth,
howling at the moon.
it's a daunting task to live a life of captivity, servility, sterility.
in these depths,
darkest trenches of war,
we pay to cum,
we kill the seed,
we spread freedom (?),
no atheists,
in foxholes,
no fear of death,
in the forgetful mind,
and I hear them in my sleep,
screaming through the pain,
and I hear that loud crack,
to ease their way to oblivion.
Even in my dreams,
they're their,
waiting for,
meaning.
Goodnight dear, Goodbye, to the smell of spit and piss,
overtaking me.
curling up inside,
already burning on crosses
they've built of dry timber,
etching out the means,
to feed humanity.
God give me the will,
to perish before I get,
to see the innocent rot.
I doubt my wishes will be granted (I've already seen it).
these depths,
hold secrets,
funneled into the darkest portions
of small intestines,
clutter the mess,
in piss and shit,
only to be revealed,
in the vowels rolling
off your tongue.
I hear the voices,
trembling spirits,
giving ghosts,
haunting sermons.
and in our darkest days, you'll always have complaints.
in these depths,
chastised servants,
bound by intelligence,
hands tied tight in knots,
un-bow their legs
so they may walk,
un-bound their mouths,
so they may speak,
lift the weight from their chests,
so they may breath,
or do you fear the,
plagues they would release.
I feel the hands,
grasping for the sun,
digging at the earth,
howling at the moon.
it's a daunting task to live a life of captivity, servility, sterility.
in these depths,
darkest trenches of war,
we pay to cum,
we kill the seed,
we spread freedom (?),
no atheists,
in foxholes,
no fear of death,
in the forgetful mind,
and I hear them in my sleep,
screaming through the pain,
and I hear that loud crack,
to ease their way to oblivion.
Even in my dreams,
they're their,
waiting for,
meaning.
Goodnight dear, Goodbye, to the smell of spit and piss,
overtaking me.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Solemnly Sworn
My Brother, My Blood.
I've told stories of fearless grandeur,
some over exaggerated and occasionally flawed,
but today I speak truth,
whether It reaches you with open ears,
or closed mind,
I do not care because today I speak no lies.
My Brother, My Blood.
Born.
Hands clenched and screaming,
Teeth clenched and screaming.
born of warriors blood,
boiled with the warmth of the sun,
lips perched north,
and you sing,
"an honorable man,
shall live forever."
heart pumping love,
smile bright and embracing,
restless, strong, forgiving,
intelligent, athletic,
charismatic,
child, boy, man,
forever mine to cherish,
heart and mind.
And They'd spout,
unclench your fists son,
and they'd spout,
keep open hands son,
but you kept them shut,
those unforgiving knuckles,
inflicting hate on those,
who stole happiness,
from beautiful souls.
My brother My blood.
death.
Stand tall my brother,
at the gates of judgment,
let your heart pump love,
and your smile shed light
on the man,
Strength in turn shall be rewarded.
Take your rightful place,
Amongst Titans.
Let Gaea embrace you as a son,
and Neptune keep you warm,
in the blanket he wrapped the sky.
You surely cannot die,
for you are a COLOSSUS of man,
My Brother, My Blood.
I've told stories of fearless grandeur,
some over exaggerated and occasionally flawed,
but today I speak truth,
whether It reaches you with open ears,
or closed mind,
I do not care because today I speak no lies.
My Brother, My Blood.
Born.
Hands clenched and screaming,
Teeth clenched and screaming.
born of warriors blood,
boiled with the warmth of the sun,
lips perched north,
and you sing,
"an honorable man,
shall live forever."
heart pumping love,
smile bright and embracing,
restless, strong, forgiving,
intelligent, athletic,
charismatic,
child, boy, man,
forever mine to cherish,
heart and mind.
And They'd spout,
unclench your fists son,
and they'd spout,
keep open hands son,
but you kept them shut,
those unforgiving knuckles,
inflicting hate on those,
who stole happiness,
from beautiful souls.
My brother My blood.
death.
Stand tall my brother,
at the gates of judgment,
let your heart pump love,
and your smile shed light
on the man,
Strength in turn shall be rewarded.
Take your rightful place,
Amongst Titans.
Let Gaea embrace you as a son,
and Neptune keep you warm,
in the blanket he wrapped the sky.
You surely cannot die,
for you are a COLOSSUS of man,
My Brother, My Blood.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Never has it been so true
I promised myself I wouldn't lead you on. So here it is confused and flawed. As foolish as these words may seem. As foolish as I may be. See, I'm just a factory worker's son from a railroad town. And yeah, I can feel the steel mills rust. But Iìve been doing my time and I've been thinking about getting out. I'm running fast the other way down a narrow dead end road. I know this won't be the last time I sing "These dreams will be my anchor. These dreams will be the death of me." Through all this I've been feeling like I'm slowly burning out...nothing is all bad...nothing is quite right. So I kept inking and screaming from my room...the only way I know how to...I'm calling out to you. I'm calling out to you. Nerves wrapped tight around my spine. I'm past the point of caring what the rest of them think. They've got the fear. They're holding back. And this is for the go-for-broke common-muck few. And this marks the end of an era and the start of something better. What can we do when the war is all around? The veins are constricting the pressure is coming down. What can we do when the war is all around? The veins are constricting. The pressure is coming down. Everyone knows we're living in a world we just can't trust. Left in the wind to die in the dust...so we spoke up. Crazy, Ugly, Illegitimate...never again. We are the symptom. We are the torn in the side. They scream 'til it hurts. They can't sleep. I want to be one of them. We try. We bleed. Endless. Broken. White. Lines. And we don't care anymore. I don't give a fuck. 'Cause I'm one of them. Our rebel hearts will turn restless ghosts. They can never truly kill us and we will never truly die.
-MODERN LIFE IS WAR "Hair Raising Accounts of Restless Ghosts (A.K.A. Hell Is For Heroes)
-MODERN LIFE IS WAR "Hair Raising Accounts of Restless Ghosts (A.K.A. Hell Is For Heroes)
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Progress For Vultures
I am not as creative or as eloquently put together as other people. Over the years I've watched friends become strangers with familiar faces. I've lost just as much as I've gained and feel good that I'm even close to breaking even. Self-esteem doesn't live here, I'm as good dead as I am alive.
That said, all I do is listen to Cat power and Snapcase, while reading constantly. Life is good. Never been better. Worst ever.
Hey there vulture,
swooning in the glare of the sun,
stirring the whirlpool in your kettle,
you can't just wait to taste blood,
no one can get near that diseased carcass
that you call life,
I long to quit you but all I get is dry mouth,
spitting sand at all walks of life,
so you can pick me clean,
white of bone and dry of blood,
it seems you keep popping up when
I least need your affection or attention,
I wish to quit you but you sense the end,
and retain a drive to ruin all that warms me,
block out the sun so as to shade my eyes,
block out the sun so we can all be blind.
That said, all I do is listen to Cat power and Snapcase, while reading constantly. Life is good. Never been better. Worst ever.
Hey there vulture,
swooning in the glare of the sun,
stirring the whirlpool in your kettle,
you can't just wait to taste blood,
no one can get near that diseased carcass
that you call life,
I long to quit you but all I get is dry mouth,
spitting sand at all walks of life,
so you can pick me clean,
white of bone and dry of blood,
it seems you keep popping up when
I least need your affection or attention,
I wish to quit you but you sense the end,
and retain a drive to ruin all that warms me,
block out the sun so as to shade my eyes,
block out the sun so we can all be blind.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)