29 March 2009
miami.
a strange scent finds its way to my nostrils as i pass the homeless wrapped up tight like mummified corpses.
25 March 2009
telephone line
the faintest fluttering heard from beyond a speaker scratching lightly my fingertips tightly gripping a vinyl crust never changing but reshapen as though liquid just beneath us.
i listen though i do not always hear.
i listen though i do not always hear.
20 March 2009
optical nerves.
for your eyes only my eyes
lie
my fingertips poisoned my lips on
fire
i will wear you
out
and never, ever
tire
for my eyes only yours will
cry
lie
my fingertips poisoned my lips on
fire
i will wear you
out
and never, ever
tire
for my eyes only yours will
cry
17 March 2009
perjury + fraud
souls floating amongst the bloated bodies of the aged converging, re-emerging from a sun scorched spread of sand
when asked the meaning of life a seemingly constant state of decay is the only truth at hand.
how can i choose between the possibilities of a life of glamour and the guaranteed satisfaction brought by an honest days' work?
a dream.
i drove and drove and drove until i sobered up. i had turned the wrong way down the main road i was taking after pulling out of a restaurant parking lot near the old factory, so i ended up just seeing the same shit i had already passed. there were more people out now, probably because the bars were closing down for the night. you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here, right?
the road seemed endless. it was just winding along the flat barren land, small buildings, large buildings, buildings. there were a few times i realized i might have been going a little too fast. there were a few times i realized how narrowly i was missing the pedestrians. but it seemed like someone else was driving. it seemed like the car already knew exactly what to do, weaving in and out of the lane.
it was starting to get light. maybe 5 or 6am, who the hell can tell with daylight savings. ain't like i put that shit in the bank for a rainy day.
towards the end of the road, at a T, i decided there was nothing more to see. i turned into a neighborhood that was springing up, house by house, foundation my foundation. one of those neighborhoods wealthy young people move their families into, the never ending domestic pissing contest that is the American dream.
most of the houses were just skeletons like the ones i used to play in when i was growing up. i remembered being terrified on the second floors before railings went in. i never did trust myself not to throw my own body over the edge. i always did it in my nightmares, so why couldn't it be translated into reality?
there was one house, on the right side of the street (i'm sure it's owner thought the same thing), that stood out from the others. i had never seen anything like it; it's exterior covered in massive panels of wood with knots like a rorschach ink blot. they twisted and unfurled in great circles and oblong splintery pools, weighing on me with what had to be their own enormous bulk, forcing me to question whether the entire facade of the house might just fall off, leaving it open for all to see like a barbie dream house.
i was enchanted. it looked as though it were occupied, but i decided to investigate anyway. it was early. people don't wake up early on the weekend. not my weekends, at least. i parked my car in the driveway of the newly framed monstrosity next door. i imagine the young couple sitting and musing over what douchebags the new neighbors will probably be.
the ground is just dirt, and rocks fall through the cracks of my sandals with every step. as i get closer the panels of wood look even heavier. i open the door ever so quietly. it is bright inside - open and warm and inviting, with children's toys strewn about. the foyer is massive. it reminds me of a house i once lived in, save for the fact that this one actually looks lived in. the kitchen is that of a real family. it seems used. i stand there for a moment, surveying the landscape. i see a picture of three children, two girls and a boy, ages from 4 to 7, or something like that. they grow like weeds, who knows how old they are now.
as i lean against a small desk i have an idea, and delicately remove a pen from a cup full of markers, crayons, pencils, scissors. i'm sure if me opening a door didn't wake them that scribbling on a piece of paper will. right.
suddenly and without warning, something feels wrong. i can't tell if it's my christian upbringing and sense of morality randomly (and in a delayed manner) kicking in, or my instincts are telling me to flee the scene, but i very quickly and with a determined step walk to the front door, quietly turn the handle, and exit. about ten long steps from the door an enraged man emerges from the house. he is in his mid thirties, dark haired, just now cultivating the paternal gut. the kids must still be young after all. i must have stolen his pen. why else would he be so angry?
"you! you! i remember you!" he yells as he tries in vain to make out my license plate number. he looks ridiculous, really, his hips swaying in a far too feminine manner as he makes his way gingerly over the small rocks and dirt.
"you're the one i saw last week! running through the movementorium! what are you? some kind of criminal?"
"no, i- i don't know what you mean"
"ha! i'm calling the police! you think you can just walk into people's houses! i saw you! you're the one who ran through the movementorium!"
as i stand there helplessly searching for something to say, trying to remember a non-memory, i beg him please, please don't call the police.
"listen," i say in a tired voice, "please just listen." i feel the night catching up to me, driving down this never ending road." it felt like it was only minutes, but it had to have been hours.
"i know what i did was wrong, and i am so sorry," i say, unconvincingly. " i had no intention of hurting you or your family, or stealing anything," i almost whisper now, brokenly, as i hand him back the pen and we walk towards his garage. he looks at me stupidly, his gradually growing double chin hanging slack below his jaw. mouthbreather.
"i was driving all night. i saw your house. it was beautiful. it IS beautiful. i don't know why i did it, something just compelled me to go through that front door."
what in the hell did i write on that piece of paper, i wonder.
"i know it's wrong. i know the fabric of society would break down if people just started walking into other people's houses in the early morning, but i really meant no harm. and i think it's absolutely fascinating that you were there, in the movementorium."
what in hell is a movementorium, anyway? the only place i'd been was a diner, and there was only one kind of movement takin' place in that greasy joint.
suddenly his whole attitude changed. there we sat at a white patio furniture set in his garage. i suppose he must have realized that it was, in fact, quite astonishing that this was the second time he'd seen me, and making an ass of myself at that. i told him that i was lonely, that all i did was drive around at night, just looking into the darkness, dodging pedestrians. i told him that his family looked beautiful, and happy, and that i hope some day i can have a beautiful family too, and live in a happy home.
we sat for a few minutes. he beamed at me, as i marveled at how stupid he was, or at least how given he was to finding excitement in a coincidence. a car pulled in and two men and a woman emerged, at which point i glanced through the now open storm door leading into the house at a blonde woman and the children.
"my car pool," he said, "wait just one minute, don't go anywhere."
he led the people inside. one of the men was wearing an abnormally large cross around his neck and staring intensely at me, through me almost. his gaze did not waver as i sat there.
i sat for a moment. i did not go anywhere. i felt the weight of those wooden panels. i took out the piece of paper i'd shoved in my pocket and wrote simply "thank you. you are the only friend i have." i left it on the table and walked quickly to my car, not looking back.
the road seemed endless. it was just winding along the flat barren land, small buildings, large buildings, buildings. there were a few times i realized i might have been going a little too fast. there were a few times i realized how narrowly i was missing the pedestrians. but it seemed like someone else was driving. it seemed like the car already knew exactly what to do, weaving in and out of the lane.
it was starting to get light. maybe 5 or 6am, who the hell can tell with daylight savings. ain't like i put that shit in the bank for a rainy day.
towards the end of the road, at a T, i decided there was nothing more to see. i turned into a neighborhood that was springing up, house by house, foundation my foundation. one of those neighborhoods wealthy young people move their families into, the never ending domestic pissing contest that is the American dream.
most of the houses were just skeletons like the ones i used to play in when i was growing up. i remembered being terrified on the second floors before railings went in. i never did trust myself not to throw my own body over the edge. i always did it in my nightmares, so why couldn't it be translated into reality?
there was one house, on the right side of the street (i'm sure it's owner thought the same thing), that stood out from the others. i had never seen anything like it; it's exterior covered in massive panels of wood with knots like a rorschach ink blot. they twisted and unfurled in great circles and oblong splintery pools, weighing on me with what had to be their own enormous bulk, forcing me to question whether the entire facade of the house might just fall off, leaving it open for all to see like a barbie dream house.
i was enchanted. it looked as though it were occupied, but i decided to investigate anyway. it was early. people don't wake up early on the weekend. not my weekends, at least. i parked my car in the driveway of the newly framed monstrosity next door. i imagine the young couple sitting and musing over what douchebags the new neighbors will probably be.
the ground is just dirt, and rocks fall through the cracks of my sandals with every step. as i get closer the panels of wood look even heavier. i open the door ever so quietly. it is bright inside - open and warm and inviting, with children's toys strewn about. the foyer is massive. it reminds me of a house i once lived in, save for the fact that this one actually looks lived in. the kitchen is that of a real family. it seems used. i stand there for a moment, surveying the landscape. i see a picture of three children, two girls and a boy, ages from 4 to 7, or something like that. they grow like weeds, who knows how old they are now.
as i lean against a small desk i have an idea, and delicately remove a pen from a cup full of markers, crayons, pencils, scissors. i'm sure if me opening a door didn't wake them that scribbling on a piece of paper will. right.
suddenly and without warning, something feels wrong. i can't tell if it's my christian upbringing and sense of morality randomly (and in a delayed manner) kicking in, or my instincts are telling me to flee the scene, but i very quickly and with a determined step walk to the front door, quietly turn the handle, and exit. about ten long steps from the door an enraged man emerges from the house. he is in his mid thirties, dark haired, just now cultivating the paternal gut. the kids must still be young after all. i must have stolen his pen. why else would he be so angry?
"you! you! i remember you!" he yells as he tries in vain to make out my license plate number. he looks ridiculous, really, his hips swaying in a far too feminine manner as he makes his way gingerly over the small rocks and dirt.
"you're the one i saw last week! running through the movementorium! what are you? some kind of criminal?"
"no, i- i don't know what you mean"
"ha! i'm calling the police! you think you can just walk into people's houses! i saw you! you're the one who ran through the movementorium!"
as i stand there helplessly searching for something to say, trying to remember a non-memory, i beg him please, please don't call the police.
"listen," i say in a tired voice, "please just listen." i feel the night catching up to me, driving down this never ending road." it felt like it was only minutes, but it had to have been hours.
"i know what i did was wrong, and i am so sorry," i say, unconvincingly. " i had no intention of hurting you or your family, or stealing anything," i almost whisper now, brokenly, as i hand him back the pen and we walk towards his garage. he looks at me stupidly, his gradually growing double chin hanging slack below his jaw. mouthbreather.
"i was driving all night. i saw your house. it was beautiful. it IS beautiful. i don't know why i did it, something just compelled me to go through that front door."
what in the hell did i write on that piece of paper, i wonder.
"i know it's wrong. i know the fabric of society would break down if people just started walking into other people's houses in the early morning, but i really meant no harm. and i think it's absolutely fascinating that you were there, in the movementorium."
what in hell is a movementorium, anyway? the only place i'd been was a diner, and there was only one kind of movement takin' place in that greasy joint.
suddenly his whole attitude changed. there we sat at a white patio furniture set in his garage. i suppose he must have realized that it was, in fact, quite astonishing that this was the second time he'd seen me, and making an ass of myself at that. i told him that i was lonely, that all i did was drive around at night, just looking into the darkness, dodging pedestrians. i told him that his family looked beautiful, and happy, and that i hope some day i can have a beautiful family too, and live in a happy home.
we sat for a few minutes. he beamed at me, as i marveled at how stupid he was, or at least how given he was to finding excitement in a coincidence. a car pulled in and two men and a woman emerged, at which point i glanced through the now open storm door leading into the house at a blonde woman and the children.
"my car pool," he said, "wait just one minute, don't go anywhere."
he led the people inside. one of the men was wearing an abnormally large cross around his neck and staring intensely at me, through me almost. his gaze did not waver as i sat there.
i sat for a moment. i did not go anywhere. i felt the weight of those wooden panels. i took out the piece of paper i'd shoved in my pocket and wrote simply "thank you. you are the only friend i have." i left it on the table and walked quickly to my car, not looking back.
15 March 2009
today.
today i became a little more self-sufficient.
today i came one step closer to disappearing completely.
14 March 2009
not not wishing you were here
though we've drifted slightly i sit sifting through memories tattered like old love letters rightly minding edges so as not to deepen the crease never ceasing to grow
the times do change moments accumulating as fine grains of sand in an ancient clock cracked not by use but its very inception.
but oh
how
the times do change moments accumulating as fine grains of sand in an ancient clock cracked not by use but its very inception.
05 March 2009
my friend.
the person to whom i've felt closest since arriving in florida is, in fact, a mildly retarded girl working as a sign waver. she wears a sequined hat and sneakers, and dances wildly (often almost into oncoming traffic), advertising HOT n' READY 2 for 1 pizza deals.
04 March 2009
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