the small moon in my room.

for some time i dreamt of a life of poverty. a life pure and simple and defined by hard work and human kinship. i dreamt of sharing all i had with the poeple around me. i dreamt of a life romanticized by the american moderns. i imagined escaping to a distant place and teaching english, or practicing some sort of medicine. spiritual or otherwise.

now, i see wine is no longer cheap and the world no longer generous. my lack of funds inspires not the clarity of an ascetic, but rather a kind of desperate greed. suddenly i see all of the things i want and cannot have; small reminders that neccessities costs me much more than a monetary amount. i take care to save whatever i can. i eat cold cans of corn and wax beans and chili and cream of mushroom soup with 10-minute rice.

i now find myself in a life of poverty, albeit not so extreme as to warrant obvious notice, but enough to cause a constant and sharp pain in my stomach from the moment i wake each day. i see bank statements and cannot open them. i cut my own hair. i find myself working my hands to the red wrinkled and cracked claws with the likes of ex-cons and drunks (both which may loosely apply to me). i am sexually harrassed constantly, and know that regardless of company policy, i should just smile and laugh. i wonder if i am pretentious, to look with equal contempt and respect for the men i share my long nights with. i often burn myself. i cherish those scars.

i find pleasure not in helping my fellow man or a job well done, but when the smells of so many sacks of refuse mingle to remind me of something more sweet. barbecue sauce, or musk. i find pleasure in my drink. i find pleasure in my sleep. i cry more often than i orgasm, but am just as satisfied, if not more.

sometimes, i feel the vomit creep up my throat when i think of the rest of my life. i am terrified. but i am thankful every day.

i miss you katie. infinitely.

a most welcome distraction.

there was an awful noise outside. like a dumpster being emptied, but it was the middle of the night. maybe it was a car being towed. a d.w.i.
it relieved me of myself.

you can find the meaning of life in a persian carpet.

are they pointing fingers at you
or are they showing you the way?

your heartbeat marks a silent beat
so hard you move in an inaudible groove
a rut so far as strangers see
but a nook, safe and sound to you and me.

are you looking for an answer
or are you waiting for directions?

all my life i've been jealous of plain girls with plain names.

"no, why are you doing that?!" she gasped as he lotioned her feet.
how would she scratch her ankles as she slept? without the thick callouses she had so lovingly cultivated over the years.
a few dead cells serve to protect.

milwaukee.

concrete fields yield no sign of life

yet so sign of stopping

an endless shockwave the sidewalks

heave breathing through small weeds

the only beings to survive the smooth manmade

landscape

the only sign of some sense of safety

safely

sprawling across the earth 

not minding

why they are.

the black wall of the forest gives way to grey.

you say "i only see white."
something along those lines. white lines.

a small girl, a bearded lady, asked me to look into her crystal globes. she wore them on her tiny, almost transluscent fingers.

"what do ju see my girl?"
"it's much too dark to see anything."
"no, look clooooser."
"i see snow."
"aaah, snooow...."

snow is indeed in your near future. it will be cold and air will rush all around you. but then! you will see only white. only the whitest wall of sanctity. it will bring you closer to your meaning. it will bring good things, warm and clear. this, is a good fortune she told me.

i am on my way to miwaukee today.

press my back
lower
lower
kiss my neck
softer
wetter
squeeze my ass
tighter
tighter
now work your hands
over
me
calloused fingers
here
and
there
rub so right
down
where?

a view inside a freezer.

my entire life i've wished i could go back in time. the older i get the more i wish i could relive even the worst of times without changing a thing, if only to remind myself what i am.

what i was.

it's getting harder and harder to say i know myself.

chemistry.

human nature allots a great deal of analogy to be found.

i am in a phase of sublimation, from a solid form into a mere memory or a sideways glance in an elevator.

i am what everyone wants. i have nothing i want. that which i do, i go to great lengths to dismiss as absurd.

i wish to water the grass beneath my feet but the cold winter provides light no longer. the nights grow longer. it is greener neither here nor there, if only because it becomes brown everywhere. the smell of the wind carries a hint of cologne from a man i barely remember. a boy i'll never forget.

briefly.

i taste dirt.

i see who i may have become in my dreams. i punch with all my being, i lash out. i never miss, but i never make my mark. i am powerless even in sleep, and in turn fantasy.

i find empathy inside when i look at a large, exotic bird. invariably, he has plucked a great deal of feathers from himself in protest. "you see?" he says, "i am no longer pretty. there is no longer a reason to keep me here. no one else shall want me now," he says. his cage is comfortable, he is well cared for. he has never seen what he wants the most, but hears and tastes it when he closes his eyes. he speaks merely because the only pleasure to be found is in pleasing those who come to look.

i find signs wherever i go. i become disillusioned when i don't want to follow them.

i am trite.

promises promises.

"you bring home you"
"in once piece or two?"
she said
bowing her head as if already dead.
"you shouldn't quit"
"but i already did"
she knew
gazing far out towards a tangerine blue.

i am staring down the barrel of a gun. i pulled the trigger months ago and have been waiting patiently for the round to finally jiggle free.

with a smooth motion i decided to end my life as i knew it. by the grace of god my purpose was given new meaning. i have prayed daily since, never to ask for another thing (save for world peace, ha), but to thank whatever force brought me here. it is too late to undo.

the seemingly obvious solution to the problem is to dodge the bullet. instead i will close my eyes, wrap my lips around the hot steel and let my life continue flashing before me.

story of my life.

of course i would spend 20 minutes carefully packing my most prized, treasured and fragile belongings into a box, walk ever so slowly away from my old apartment for the final time, only to feel said box (having now been used three times) give way in my arms, showering my silly little trinkets of inifinite value onto the ground in an explosion of glass and rose petals.

the sky is falling.

the pale haze like a palpable wall of humid air and latent tensions stretching between sidewalks and a pavement colored sky, ticking even the crickets into believing time has stopped.

for the first time in years i experience days i've never seen before in this city. the weather, more often than not, can conjure for me the most detailed memories.

it was cloudy. i wore a scarf.

summer moon.

upon stepping outside, my immediate reaction was to think it unseasonably warm and humid. in reality, it's just been nearly freezing over entirely every night.

hell, that is.

a lot of people out there have a lot pretty things.
but no class.

yer doin' it rong.

we exist in three dimensions casting shadows of two who cannot see us in time. the fourth dimension the invention of our minds.

post vomitus.

subtle shivers quiet chattering
a footstep here, a cocked head and
attentive ear.
no effort to quell Silence will end in
success.
no body large or small,
no stretched lips, no pearly teeth;
merely a life among those noises
only a hermit hears.

just another token of a stolen heart.

bruised broken
cracked weathered
mother nature cannot
be fought with even the
most powerful of savles
or ointments. she
will until the

very end

be waiting in the morning
never with a smile, no
always poised, waiting for
that first grimace of
the day
upon realization that
yes, you're in the very, one
and only place you'll ever

see.

and so your hot,
dry gateway to the
soul stretches, until
the tension finally erupts
to set off a disappointing taste
of bitter metal, one thicker
than water i will venture,
or at least ever so
very slightly

heavier.

bite off more than you can
chew and it will only
take you a step further toward
that day that may come,
the day
that you can no longer
bear the pain of twisting so
many forced syllables
and troubled phrases together

and seal your lips for

good.

i can think of no thing less appealing than a dry apocalypse.

what i seek is a greater fortune: vengeance.

attention deficit disorder is not a reality, but a symptom of the reality we have constructed. technology is defined largely by the unnatural; whether heavy machinery (which now seems organically analagous to the flexing muscles of a buffalo's flanks) or more complex components of the burgeoning digital age.

it only makes sense that our bodies, though almost biomechanical in that our bodies need minerals and metals to conduct the sparks of electricity our brains send to keep our hearts beating, require some type of catalyst to perform on a level compatible with the onslaught of gadgets and "innovations" we have created to make our lives convenient.

we have destroyed familiarity.

we have condemned change with our every breath and ensured nothing too old will ever be around to remind us. we need a catalyst to make us forget.

to forget that we are not in our element anymore. that we have abandoned humanness, and tried desperately to destroy every trace of the instincts and learned responses that got us through evolution. we need a catalyst to distract us from the fact that every morning we wake up sensing that something is amiss, only to dispell it as another mental feat of myth and invention brought on by sleep. we dismiss dreams as mere stories. we forget our bodies already know.

and so we take speed to keep up with the joneses, the jetsons, and mother fucking harry and the hendersons.

i will never know what happened. if only because your creativity is not one of the natural world. it is not music, nor is it art, and yet the weight with which you speak of it is crushing. there will never be a pill for you, computer mouth.

i will live my life as i have always wanted. it will be unfulfilling. i will remember the sun on my cheeks.

the red ghost of a suffocating sun.

i like chewing gum that loses its flavor quickly. i don't need to be entertained; simply to have something other than my tongue to think on.

for years this city hasn't worked for me. i thought if i gave us some time apart, a moment to breathe, that i could come back and we could have a fresh start. for a brief time, she cradled the life i had dreamed of in her temporarily sun-drenched palms. i caught a glimpse of what i thought was the way it was supposed to be.

she reminded me that they never forget, not in the end. familiarity is conducive to a sense of ownership and entitlement. little did i know i had long ago soured whatever relationship we might have had, and that she could never forgive me. here i thought she had no idea.

i know, i have to go away. oh cat, it's hard, but it's harder to ignore it, isn't it?

everywhere i look i see dead ends and only the foreign light of a shrouded sun will show me what lies at the end of my tunnel.

eyes open wide i see stranger things lacking sight,
blurred sudden strangers and ghosts, the dark shakes me deep with fright.

i refuse to pander to a grown woman with the emotional capacity and reasoning ability of a twelve year old.

i quit my job today and learned that what makes us adult is fear.

i'm all grown up. the sunshine on my cheeks.

the fairest of the seasons

now that it's time.



i remember a time before i remember time. i remember when there was a question. i remember when i was the answer. i remember never wanting to ask again. i remember so many memories and see i am merely a conglomerate of so many missed moments.

a letter.

p.s. i found your missing piece. at least i got one good laugh in this weekend.

i don't understand computers but

http://www.zshare.net/download/91150265fcad12/

here's what's in my head.


?

if i want your opinion, i'll beat it out of you.

i killed him.

i am selfish. and i am convinced it is vain for me to even think i had any part in it to begin with.

someone, hurry up and blame me.before they eat me from the inside.

exploding or imploding i know not the difference. all i've to go by is instinct and inference.

embedded

i see with my youth.

today i pretended to go to work and drove to the beach instead. it is not the first time i have done this. i don't know why i do this.

there was an entirely new shoreline borne of ethereal rocks reflecting light in a million-plus directions; massive ice floes that had settled neatly upon one another to create a scene of tectonic greatness. looking out across the vast liquid expanse i can see my future. the cold deep murk is the place i feel at home. i stick my feet in for an instant.

just to see.

one fatal flaw fatality the ism, my mind's light fares best trapped within a prism.

<24hours

i found myself leaving work early to drive around downtown upon realizing how desperately i've craved the smallness afforded by towering edifices and even the smells of the city. it did not suffice.

i had a momentary glimpse into what my life might have been had not such a strange, yet subconsciously predictable sequence of events tanspired. i was led here, regardless of my destination.

i ache now having fallen through the fabric of time into and back from my other life. my other visions. my other daily route and favorite gyro stand. my other bike rack. my other friend.

there was a time when mania was incarnate in we. tangible and tasteable and fickle. there was a time energy saturated the air, when even to breathe it was difficult and each molecule was imbued with a chaotic and volatile expectation of the best and worst, combined into the most beautiful and horrible cataclysm witnessed by me or you.

it's still just a movie.

we've come a long way, little duck.

i'm sorry you forgot.

sometimes the cloudiest skies seem arousing, the physical weight of multi-tonal gray days pressing on me like a pushy lover. a veritable tropical paradise, i breathe the cool breeze and traverse sidewalks turned seas.

crystal waters is playing. gypsy woman.

i've seen so many of these same sights. i'm ready to stop fighting. i'm ready to accept and ready to run. i'm ready to take responsibility and see you with another woman.

i don't trust you anymore.
i don't love you anymore.

but i tried.

if i had a motorcycle.

i would drive so fast i'd end up at a point in time where we can both laugh at how stupid i am.

but in all reality, i'll probably just end up another skidmark on an abandoned road.

if the sun doesn't come out soon i fear i may lose much more than my tan.

learned or inherited?

i cannot move of my own accord.



i will forever be waiting for someone to simply take me.







like a jilted lover i sit hovering resting and sifting deftly through the words heard over so many murderous mutterings

sputtering no more than exasperated replies.

the frustrations of anunciating the phrases
separated from the emaciated frame of what cannot be named
a conundrum exacerbated by stories so nearly the same.

heavy footed or on shaky heels pointed toes and flexing bridges
transmit the static sans script and trace these finely inked ridges.

every day is a gamble, yet i never make bets.

the more perfect i realize the world around me has become, the more i feel a mere amalgamation of mistakes.

doing lines.

i push and go with the ebb and flow of the single unfamiliar familiarity i know.

a mind is never made up more or less than the bed on which its pillow and head may rest.

oftentimes i lay waking cursing the modest, decent and demure, be it abhorrence or fear, my blood boils 'til pure.

a wish for the chance to take back a broad shouldered stance, a plea to be cellophane given one final chance.

classic traps set by the hunter for he, the pitfalls of speculation, a confused un-question of fealty.

as man can plan for every last detail, the merits of such in comparison pale.

a hobby, comeuppance or mere charade promised ahead, a heart out of place or stopped beating feels heavy as lead.

i wish i could live simultaneous parallel lives shifting continuously in every temporal direction.

thanks for the advice, friends.

an interview with Glitter Dick: part I

As i walk up to the cafe where i'm supposed to be meeting him, i'm suddenly overcome with apprehension. how the hell am i, of all people going to be able to relate this story, nay this legend, without ever having experienced anything like it?
From half a block away i can see him standing there, leaning on the weathered brick wall, slowly pulling on a cigarrette. he's almost majestic, in the animal kingdom kind of way, long and lean and unforgiving. i don't so much walk to his side, but slither, trying to stay low to the ground should i decide to flee.
"you know i wasn't always like this," he immediately tells me. "The day the accident happened, man, THAT was when things changed."

-----------------------------------------------

GD:"arite, arite, arite, but before we go any further lady just stop for a second, let's just stop, just have a moment of silence man"

(pause)

"so arite think about everybody as a circle man, none of this sphere shit like real hardcore liney sketched out raw circles man, like a ven diagram on methamphetamine screwing your uncle because it needs the money, but don't we all really when it comes down to it? i mean like really aren't we all on some form of speed, pharmaceutical or otherwise?" (and, sheilding his mouth with his hand, as if to protect the worn, faded awning behind him from the cold hard truth of it all) "and it is almost always otherwise...."

"so either way man we're on the right track here. we're examining the circles man, all these intersecting circles, and in between the circles there's just ghosts and air you know like those sounds i hear sound like someone's here the space is theirs but they're not there kinda deally you know? i don't know my mom was an english teacher or some shit i just love that shit. whatever man all i'm tryin to say is whatever it doesn't even matter anyway. "