At this moment we escape our own time line that is nothing more than fate dressed in its finest.
going to the party alone and hopeless.
a time we cant see or touch but is all too real.
This will never happen again.
this is not a second coming.
A half hearted yell at the end of the universe.

Turn, turn around

Its yours to find
it is all you have
I am all alone
to fall in love with this
this light is too dim
with thoughts so loud
how a deaf man hears
spatially decomposing
maggots of the social elite
feeding on cheap beer and gossip
could there be a chrysalis here
with anchors on ankles
this is shark infested alcohol
Mr. Bad Ideas carries a straight razor
and a journal in his eyes
Fuck your moleskein
the cracks in my side walk say more
the floor shifts
moon beams hit my face
I sat and remembered to remember everything
this is what it smells like
it feels like
and this is my song.

this storm marching

buried under a pine-cone avalanche
drop the needles
Red timber stands
dockside
sunrise, sunset
flame licks this to copulate my divining rod
parallel universes
falling further towards nothing than imagined
ride this pale horse on
into the sunset or towords this end,
this sickness,
this sleep,
this station.
Burial grounds under a thousand bones
Flower petals frail under the weight of heat
the flood of molten ash to bury
holding on to what is precious to you
that was to me
you were to us
fall out winter in grey clouded heads
a choice to live is
a choice to live so hard it hurts
this is not mine
nor the angel
but we give in to nothing less than that
if i die before i wake
wake before i die
sleep before I rest
and care every day non the less.
yet sleep is a cousin of death.

Part 2.

We land with nothing more than hope in our lungs and packs on our backs. In line for the baggage I see a familiar face, or hat should I say. Approaching all to apprehensively, so as Americans do, we do. I have come to find none more than a single Aussie also in need of a ride. 15 American dollars for a 4 hour ride to Playa Hermosa sounds like a fucking deal. The wind smelled of pollution and dirt just as I had remembered. Alas this time I was void of plans and worry. On the ride from the buzzing metropolis, through the lush hill that border what you all know as rain forest we trucked. You a blinding sense of motion sickness I would have never guessed, tough right? As you rested your head on my shoulder through the twisting curves and the winding winds, I knew what I was in for long before my mind had decided. Head phones on. Green like I had never seen yet I had seen it in exact times before. Half way we stop. To see the alligators. Fresh water. To remind us only how prehistoric wild can actually be. On this bridge you took a picture. We were here once. It was real. Simon from Australia was wearing the same LA dodgers hat I had so wholeheartedly tried to find before we left. Benny The Jet. A hero of sorts was embodied when I noticed how he smiled. None but to give a fuck. About a half hour later we lad in Playa Hermosa. Simon, From Australia, is looking for a surf hostel after spilling his beans. He was a student in Mexico studying and was sent on holiday due to the infamous Swine Flu. As opposed to how Americans would take it, Simon, he went surfing. Not only surfing but surfing in one of the worlds best surf spots. Oh not yet do I fall peril to my lack of surfing abilities. THe Inter-bus stops much to our elation at a breakfast joint. Little to you knowledge we had slept a few bumpy hours in the air. 8:45 am. Tico typical in full effect. she had never had eggs this way. Tico. Real. With love. I cut the legs of my pants off with my trusty buck knife we had so skillfully stolen from our camping gay neighbors te year previous. It was hot. Actually hot and in June, before hot had hit our "home". After a few minutes deciding on food and severing my cotton ties with the leg wrappings in a jean that bind me to some sort of home or fimilarity.

Caffe con leche. I ordered like I had been here for years. Plantaino frito. Bueno. I was letting go and for the first time in 25 years vacating what I had grown to know. You were not safe, nor am I at this point. Little to your knowledge, time and place, I begin my demise. I love you. Some one I barely know. Someone I wholly trust. What am I doing in the tropic of Cancer?

Part 1.

I had always noticed you. after little planning and even less thinking. Bright sun hit my face as I dialed your number. Backpack packed, ticket in hand. I had not slept the night before thus instant sleep to the droning whirr of the jet engine. Mountain time. I land in the circus tent, take the train across to concourse A in the main terminal. Walking through an airport with head phones on yields interesting judgements and people watching. Wondering what moved them enough to physically move themselves. It hit me. Why had I moved my self and what the hell had I gotten into. I barley knew you. Making my way though throngs to the smoking bar. Looked at like a bleeding wound, my cigarette dangled from my lips as I wondered where you were at that second. The perspiration on a cold brown beer bottle as an old man pulls up a chair. Asks the typical air-port bar questions, where was I going, what did I do, I simply replied and Don the lift truck operator proceeded to buy Jameson. Don told me all about spousal abuse with his ex wife and the like in rural South Dakota being a drunk hick. The hands had moved and time sped up with whiskey as the catalystic fuel. Yet you were no where to be found. Now I am nervous. Time is slipping as I stumble from the comfortable place into the loud dry place, looking. I have no method of contact and am realizing this could be a terrible joke and actually start sweating. As the nausea was setting in after I had realized on the blue flickering monitors it had change from you not showing up to a flight being late. 6 hours of thinking alone about what on earth we could have been kidding ourselves into. The same bartender from life past was starting to worry for me judging by the look on his face. I decent the useless metal moving stairs on to the fat lady conveyor. Then I saw a small hard frame moving through people all too aerodynamically. I knew it was you. In an instant this was really happening. Your smile plays tricks on my fluorescent flooded baby blues and makes me think that this has to be more. Got to be. Your breath was much sweeter than Dons, your eyes much softer and your skin felt nothing like the carpet I had been forced into early hangover on. We held our hand and our breath. Sooner than later we were crossing the tropic of cancer and the equator to an equation not calculated yet. You+me+*adventure-money/not knowing x lust=*unknown variable at this conjuncture.

Mostly Perfect With a Chance of Destruction

I was going to write like a journal

I like being cryptic



Fell to darkness in a loud place.
Shallow breath/deafening heart beat.
So this is uncertainty?
I feel like I have fallen into an Ice covered lake
Half way out
you grab my hand
and the ice gives way to more water
Keep trying, sodden clothes weigh down
There is light below the surface
an obscure hand through the water swipes
can we stop drowning?

The Smallest Kings Bones.

This person staring through
This person staring through the reflective
You've turned and run off with all
to the other side with you
and I know, I know
you try so damn hard to be so happy.
So you say, what do I do now that you are me?
I'll fade with time, just like in the dream.
Inherit my shoes, they were too hard to fill anyways.
I want it to go well for you, start over and do it right this time for me.
Open the eyes, look at this wall and notice the one that borrows and steals.
I do this to myself.
Stick to the side roads,
they help interesting thoughts.
You see what you want to see

Serial killers.

Raining hard
I hope it is passing
along with this feeling.

Rolling in
as ominous as ever
walls thicker than clouds
Waning Gibbous

Not to end as all others
but to begin anew
born of broken

Sewn seeds
growing season
Indian summer foreboding
carrying us to blue water
one can only hope.

Chalk path outlines.

I think that, as life is action and passion, it is required of a man that he should share the passion and action of his time at peril of being judged not to have lived.


To reach a port we must sail, sometimes with the wind, and sometimes against it. But we must not drift or lie at anchor.


Men do not quit playing because they grow old; they grow old because they quit playing.
Oliver Wendell Holmes


Many people die with their music still in them. Why is this so? Too often it is because they are always getting ready to live. Before they know it, time runs out.


I find the great thing in this world is not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving.


To be 70 years young is sometimes far more cheerful and hopeful than to be 40 years old.


Death tugs at my ear and says: "Live, I am coming"


Oliver Wendell Holmes

A New Aeon For Mankind.

The ordinary man looking at a mountain is like an illiterate person confronted with a Greek manuscript.

A live dog is better than a dead lion.

ba bhreá liom teacht, ach tá mé gnóthach;


ach seo hurlamaboc focal ata gar dó san fhoclóir.

The Cowboy Saloon of Slim Jim Talkins

It was nearly sunset as I spanked in to the little human town named Spatula, but known by the locals as Stickyville. I tied up my trusty Blender to captain James T Kirk of the star ship Enterprise. My whip-cream now throbbing and I was fisting in a shit pile so cunningly presented. As I approached I reached into my weasel for 420 baby boners. A fine lookin' cyclops like her wasn't cheap. Even for a drunken cowboy like Anus, it's good to be porky.

In Failing.

reduced to a number
statistically speaking
broken down.

we are we
flushed out
and hopeless
no more no less
a break to not fuse
nor to heal
a wound deeper than assumed
a limb lost
but assuming pinky at most
still disillusioned
retort to come
a reason to start
a reason to give up
last breath
not waving
drowning.

Pins and needles

Staring at a ghost across a table set for two,
This is the last call before the credits roll.
The charm of silver screen depression saturated in alcohol.
It's so seductive.
Filtered through tobacco haze.
It's so fucking intoxicating,
The way they glimmer through the grain and make dysfunction such a fashion.
Jimmy stewart suicidal sex appeal.
The alcoholic is the last true hopeless romantic.
Stumbling and smelling of stale gasoline,
Making james dean speeches to an empty room.
Audrey left some lipstick on her cigarette in the ashtray
With a note scrawled on a napkin saying "this is glamour".
This is where hollywood cues the delusion
That everything looked this blue through sinatra's eyes.
What america needs is another worthwhile overdose.
Celestial bodies constructed on set,
Destined to explode in the headlines.
Another dry martini and a methamphetmaine.
Godspeed norma jean, I hope you saved us one last sleeping pill play it again
For me.
The tragedy of a track marked beauty queen.
The starlet in the magazine.
She looks all right to me.
She looks so good to me.
But there's somthing in the way she moves, like I want to.
Make me want you.
Tonight I feel like fame, dreary and estranged.
I'd scratch through glass not to be without.....
(without...) there's a whole lotta shakin' going on.

Adios, thanks for a reason.

There I go.

Bleak Out Lo.

Birds are flyin' south for winter.
Here's the Weird-Bird headin' north,
Wings a-flappin', beak a-chatterin',
Cold head bobbin' back 'n' forth.
He says, "It's not that I like ice
Or freezin' winds and snowy ground.
It's just sometimes it's kind of nice
To be the only bird in town."

Etymology

I do not know where family doctors acquired illegibly perplexing handwriting,
nevertheless extraordinary pharmaceutical intellectuality
counterbalancing indecipherability transcendentalizes
intercommunications incomprehensibleness.

A Property of Lightning

Very rarely does it strike twice
not often do people like us
fall this hard
to find a forgiving surface
not too hard or soft
not too hot nor too cool
our great divide
a constant changing of guards
never enough
always too much
cyclically cycling
swimming only to drown
you breathe water
I air
but someday
you will wake up and remember
what it felt like
to smile in the sun
with someone
like me.

The spiral of death into addiction.

Just as he hit
The ground
They lowered a tow that
Stuck in his neck to the gills
Fragments of sobriquets
riddle me this
three half eaten corneas
who hit the aureole
Stalk the ground
Stalk the ground
You should have seen
The curse that flew right by you
Page of concrete
Stained walks crutch in hobbled sway
Auto-da-fé
A capillary hint of red
Only this manupod
Crescent in shape has escaped
The house half the way
Fell empty with teeth
That split both his lips
Mark these words
One day this chalk outline will circle this city
Was he robbed of the asphalt that cushioned his face
A room colored charlatan
Hid in a safe

Ropes, with words, to bind.

Lately I struggle to breathe
like I did once.
Bound lungs
set in apprehension of you
looking in reflections of windows
hoping to see a shadow walk by
not turning my head
when I pass
as if I wouldn't notice
all of your 115 pounds
of confused persona
I miss.
Hoping the bike lane is taken up
by you and I
wanting nothing more
than excuse to say
I miss doing nothing with you.

Don't kid yourself.

If that is you and him
This is you and I.
With the exceptions
bruised is normal
inside and out
She smells of Voltaire
you of Allium cepa
in the end we both felt like shit
but continue
like always
to hide it
in our own caves
mine worn on tattered sleeves
yours on the shores no one sees
In the crows nest
the thought brought men to knees
or at least saw a seagull
hope for land
a fool I may be
you are just as hopeless as I
forgetting tales of the sea
Before the harbor,
we could lie.

Really.

when you think to yourself
"this time it is different"
that's your cue to know it is not.

In Revision.

Rest in peace Quita.

Hope it is nice where ever you are

We all love you

I am gonna hug Colty today for you.

This week sucks dick.

"Because things are the way they are, things will not stay the way they are."

Dear Whothefuckcares

I lied to you
This is the first and last time I will write about you.
Thanks for wasting my time.
Thanks for being there for me.
I tried to be Japanese.
You can be sad person.
Not getting better any time soon.
At least you were good in the sack.

p.s. this actually really hurt.

I'm a fraid knot.

Well balanced
in doses
unraveled by you.
fraying at both ends.
the knot that failed,
not that it has failed.
load bearing,
set to snap.
positive and negative never touch.
there are no sense in senses.
trusting in logic fails.
a foundation of feeling nothing
leads to a house of false hope.
yet a dull knife still cuts.
it does not hurt any less now
than it did then.
a cool breeze
with you in its elbow.
primary colors danced in the window.
he let out a sigh
and asked
2343?
I knew the reply.
and the other,
will knot hold?

The Science of Failing

with the routine
of the sun and moon
the coming and going of tides
we sit at 67,000 miles per hour
going no where fast
yet we go where we are pulled
like the sun and moon
over a long enough time frame
we will fall out of orbit
stars will die
light fades
thus only to come again
but it will only be so dark
oh please don't take my sunshine away

Continuing trends... Too good...

Neuron flash in fifty watts pinpointing to the streetlight limbo.
Told me it was chemistry why I behave like this.
Why I move in misdirected impulse and speak in scrambled clusters of white
Noise.
Traction is not a term of endearment.
Death is an experiment best conducted face down.
Vertigo may not include spinning, but it ought to.
I am languid in the puddle, face full of concrete cellophane.
Don't say a single word unless you speak with a drowning tongue.
I am not listening. I am not focusing.
My eyes have sunk and set and I am invincible.
I'm water proof. someone said that heaven is just coincidental collision of
Electrons.
This is not the time for touching me.
I am a conduit changing colors, frantic humming televisions,
Conducting city spasms, shorting voltage like a fuse.
The elevating vibrations of hysteria, amplified by the armor of the tarn.
Flashing lights paint veins across the sky.
And everyone along the roadside just wants to see a saint.
The serenity of sirens, the allure of the femme fatale.
Her defibrillator hands can't stop me now.
I feel quite all right.

42

This is a cause for celebration here in the belly of the swarm.
The situation demands that we raise our glasses in honor of the spokesman
We’ve fixated to the floor.
Give us your headline hymns and your saddest verse.

You’re not partnered with the half-hearted anymore.
Out legs are spread wide open,
Our weary heads are splitting at the seams
And we all know you’re proficient in the idioms of grief.
We are capable of the kind of love about which only the petrified can speak.
Concede him the microphone let him sing the triumph of the frauds to all his loyal sycophants.
We all cater to the fire, once the walls come rushing down for shame.
I can say it better than you felt it.
And I can be it bigger than you needed it.
I haven’t lived a day of my life apart from the one that everyone’s read about.
I’ll spark de-evolution.
I was specially bred for the cover page of your magazines.

I’ve been fatted up for the guillotines.
Sweet talker, you’re goddamn right I’m a blessed lamb.
I can show you all how to have a good time.
I know why you came here, but neither of us will get what you want out of me.
This room has one too many laureates so I’m keeping my peace.
Every candidate ends his life with a cliché,
And the paths of glory lead to nowhere but the grave.

I’ve been spoiled rotten.
Every thought I’ve authorized had curdled.
Not everything is poetry but I can’t convince you of that,
I’ve been drawn and quartered.
I’ve been twice picked over.
And it’s sickening what you’ve come here today to celebrate.
Fuck yeah we’re gonna party tonight.
I am capable of the kind of love about which
Only the intoxicated and the California bound can weep.

This is......

not the last nor will it be
letting sleeping dogs lie is not our speciality
but none the less
they sleep tonight
as I sleep alone
with none but the company of memory
i know what it was
and is
you held tight as if to squeeze the hope out of nothing
the feeling of your hand in my hair is the same as it was
the smell of you
and the eyes to let me down every time
Fill my soul with hope.
NO HOPE.
NONE.
EVER.
Set fire to what we know and hate.
My only hope is you will watch it burn with me.

With Wax Wings

We follow light all too closely
for if only a second
To have your rays fall upon us
melting our wings
we plummet back to
back to
back to
nothing ever changes
the ground just as hard as I remember
I felt my stomach drop just the same
every time
again and again
thousands of miles
or in the same room
you know who you aren't
and you keep holding my heart.
With none but the sound of your voice
or those tiny socks.
That hold tiny feet,
supported by an all but tiny heart.
BREATHE.

Le crique

The phone rings and you pick up with uncertain hello. This was the beginning of one of the most memorable days of my life.

I got in my car, tickets in hand, on a cold, blustery day. Opening my car door to a smell all but forgotten. At this point my car still smelled new. A sweet smell of leather accompanied me on my drive from work to your parents house. While driving I kept looking at the 10th row seats emblazoned with bright yellow type on a deep azure background. The apprehension building up to seeing you again was so thick you could have cut the air.

I watched you clumsily approach my car and the situation with the unapparent grace that only you could have had. Once in, all I saw was your smile. Awkward conversation as if new to our tongues is all that I remembered following the drive to a magical place. You told me I looked nice and I felt helpless. Once parked we set foot into a somber november sky. A short trek down a winding path, the boulevard scattered withe fallen leaves as red as fire. Providing the perfect backdrop for the colors of your beautiful dress and blue eyes. The sky was the model for what I now consider a gloomy day.

A large white tent stood as something almost foreboding on the horizon. As our hands brushed each other causing you to look right in my eyes. This is how you would say it is ok. We passed through a makeshift barricade, handed our tickets to a man in a masquerade mask, exchanged a childish sense of excitement and you kissed me. I remember the sound of our shoes on the fault filled gravel pavement as if it were some sort of twisted metaphor.

At this moment I knew I would never forget a single detail of this for the rest of my entire life.

Walking into the tent shrouded in darkness fumbling to find our seats, this is world of imaginable opportunity. I couldn't believe how close we were. In so many ways. I could hear your heels stick to the sugar coated floor. The overwhelming shrill pitch of a whistle filled the air. A large, stalwart black man in a top hat sauntered on stage whistling songs never possible in my mind. The Spot light hit and for an hour I was transported to a place that only existed in my mind before I was too old to know it cant exist. I saw a tiny woman surrounded by giants, floating with the help of none but balloons. Balloons eventually fall or pop.

Intermission

It was dusk now and we wondered amongst the jugglers and vendors in amazement. The smell of carmel filled my nose as the sound of exotic guitar swam in my ears beside your voice. The lights danced around us at what in my opinion now seems like a feverish pitch. This is how memory works. Things speed up and slow down, taste sweeter, are warmer and more beautiful than reality. Yet this is reality. It is what was my reality. Bustling with visible energy in my eyes we made way back into the cave. Or was it a tent. Yes the tent. The cacophony of feet rhythmically hitting the floor brought my eyes from you to birds. Or men. Men in bird suits. The plumage was the color of mustard and I was alone in this show. This was my show to you. I am not the kind of person who is a companion to ghosts of your nature. Almost there, corporeal. Yet I held your hand as we oohed and ahhed. Our symphony of astonishment at how they did not drop the ball. The wire so thin and perilously suspended above us, yet not even a vibration of nerves was felt by me from them. But from me to them is another story in and of itself. This was the moment I lost my safety net and plummeted down. This was my fate sung so gracefully by the siren of my own design. Eyes on the prize. You miss so much what with sleeping and blinking. Time makes fools of all of us every day. The pace raced faster and faster till the lights dim as waning moons we fell under this spell. Only to be shuffled out like a head of cattle. To come to this plastic tarp and metal flooring shabbily built to host my hopes and dreams for a few night before giving other people false hope.

What is this hope, more importantly what is his reality. An illusion of magic is only an illusion when you realize it. Right? for the moments between sleep and awake we are real. No pre disposition to what we know will tell us that monsters dont exist and are not having coffee with us.

Shoot to kill.

We never loved ourselves so well as when we lusted after eachother.
We hummed along to electric guitars and the standard "whoa oh oh oh's"
And we drank each other under the covers.

They Call It Murder.

Burn down the fucking world!

Put on your goddamned dancing shoes.

This time it is for real.

A party of sycophantic repetition.

Smell the fat of the rich burn

And the innocence of the children leave the building.

Lets dance with the dead tonight.

for tomorrow we are born again.

Piss stained and still drunk

It is urgent

At the end of the world

Dont leave a shot half empty.

cause this shot gun is loaded.

Two shots.

One for you.

This is what happens one night at a time.

Suffer.

I cannot deny what I say
What I want is you
I'll see the world fall to its knees, rise and fall
Sometimes I wish everything I did wasn't killing time
Until we're face to face again
You don't look as disappointed as you will with time
"It's all right",
You'll tell me when everything's stripped away
"Understand completely that your everything's not everything to me"


oh and look up Ron Mueck if you have not.