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.