| unfinished, unfocused |
[25 Apr 2007|12:35am] |
the ring ring ringing of our fruitless weeping
all burning through tobacco lines
and into ash trays to sit alone thinking
about the years it antiquated,
purged into that dark forest light
where the simple seep of sorrow
will suffice it through the winter.
and how the harrowing thoughtless
all descimated the tracks
leading into the kingdom of thine heavenly;
wormish antibodies can't dispel the truth
that was fed to us through feeding tubes
when we were birthed behind the gates
and cooled under a flaming wing-
how will we ever find our way back?
----------------------
before she caught your eye,
i prayed her's would see me.
before you touched her skin,
i dreamt that i held it.
before you moaned it out,
i worshipped her name.
your wedded hands are squeezing my throat,
rover rover, send me over.
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| Death, the Playwright |
[21 Dec 2006|07:44pm] |
Death is not a stagehand
Behind the scenes,
He is alive
With hands and an empty face,
And he will shake your bed
When you’re sleeping,
He will show you in dreams
What you’re not seeing in wake,
He will play you music
When you’re not listening hard enough,
And you will hear its dark chords
Being strummed from a burning car
Or an empty hospital bed,
You will see the notes
Written in your father’s tears
When his brother leaves the stage
Because his role is over,
And even as the curtain
Falls over your eyes
And you can’t see the play,
You’ll know who was the star.
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[10 Dec 2006|10:42pm] |
Friendship Bracelets
I found you floating facedown in a riverbed
And tried to dry you off, but I was
Just as wet and drowning;
We had passed through a storm
While looking for a dream
And it left only us.
We tried every angle
But our broken hearts never fit together;
We’re just two halves connected
By the sorrows we found in the desert
When the mirages found out
We believed in them
And dissolved into hot air.
Our dreams were given up
Like a child falling from a bike,
And we sat through the years
Unwinding clocks and drinking shards of glass,
Waiting for some stranger
To hitch us a ride into devastating solace.
And it would seem as if
The past was just a sketch of the future
When it unfolded with the grace
Of a sinking shore
And took forks in windy roads
Just to find the same trail of tears,
But I know now it’s what
We were always meant to do.
We are souls departed
From the same invisible world
That found comfort in each others’ eyes
Because they reminded us
Of that home we’ve never seen.
And together
We will spend our days
Blowing cobwebs away,
Searching for a calm sea
And fingers that fit through our own.
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| I'm not so sure these are any good |
[25 Nov 2006|02:19pm] |
Winter Solstice
The lazy girl with raven eyes
Lying in a ditch,
Where the rolling leaves
Crumble and bury her;
Tonight her heart will
Be eclipsed by the sun.
The crying farmers raking for gold
In an ocean of black waves;
Tonight their prayers
Will be considered.
The skeletal maid
Cleaning out her closet
And hanging from her own roof;
Tonight her ropes will untangle.
The man with coins in his eyes,
Tailor made for a funeral,
Turning down every card he picks up;
Tonight he’ll be dealt a hand
That shakes back.
The little girl with a wet dress
And a basket of dead flowers
That dance when she gives them
To the wind;
Tonight will be their first recital.
You and I will lie to our mothers
To sit in crowded fields
And watch the skies explode.
-------------------------------
Scrapbook
Is it safe to say that pictures can bleed
And memories can't keep their voices down?
I wait for the day I can
Look back fondly without
Reaching for my cup of poison.
He was standing there the whole time,
Waiting to put a check on my heart
Before it reached out for more
Than it could hold, and who am I
To intervene with an intervention?
But all I wanted was a moment
I wouldn’t want to forget,
So I’ll set down this book by the fire,
And hope it gets licked by flames.
Tell God I want to help
In Time’s assisted suicide.
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| Something's Wrong |
[04 Nov 2006|12:42am] |
these arent mine, for once
Another day goes by me
Another day of life without you
And as I look around me
I feel so lonely there's noone
Noone here beside me
Noone here to help to see me through
To see me through
To see me through
Cause I need you
Cause I need you
Been standing still for much too long
And I realise there's something wrong
I'm feeling strange, I need a change
And I realise that there's something wrong
There's something wrong
There's something wrong
Another two years over
Don't understand what's happened to me
These days are so much colder
Up against the fire, dont feel any heat
Cracked up years behind me
Cracked up years ahead are all I see
Are all I see
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| The Mourners |
[13 Oct 2006|12:08am] |
The sky is a messy black
Of spilt coffee and runny ink,
The dark is painted silver by the moon,
The midnight sun,
Lighting up the pine trees like candles,
Like Christmas trees to be.
We dip ourselves in pails of water
But cannot feel the soothing burning,
Cannot breathe the fresh scent of pine needles
Or the blades of wind that whiplash.
They came floating on whispers
Out of the fresh soil
With white tears and rings around their eyes,
Hooded black gowns
Black everything and all
In a quiet funeral march to our feet.
They dropped their skin
And peered into our ears
To tell us we are dead.
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| Random prose that today's sorrow has written. |
[04 Oct 2006|06:51am] |
My lungs are filling up with baby butterflies
That turn back into worms
When they fly out of my mouth.
My brain is a ball of flickering
Christmas tree lights;
Oh, won’t someone pull out the plug?
It is raw and chirping and without
The help of forgetful medicine
And I wish I could forget where I am.
I put on a suit and talk to people
I can’t look in the eye
Just for a penny,
Because that is what the world
Would have me do.
It’s a disguise; an alter ego, a secret identity,
To pass me off as a working machine
Until my ride shows up.
God has bad breath.
The walls are melting into a puddle
And I am the drain pool.
They flow through me helplessly, endlessly,
I am never dry
Save when a silver tongue
Licks up every drop;
They call him God,
But he never stays for long.
I’m shedding my skin
But I have many layers.
My breaking point is a twig
And I am a child naked in the woods
Freezing alone.
Save a flower for my grave
In the belly of a wolf.
The dark will draw shapes
When there’s no one to check your fear,
No one to marry your neurosis,
No one to eat your funeral dinner.
I want a shoulder to lie on
When my own turns cold.
I fake my death to fool the reaper;
I don’t need his help
(or pity)
I hate everywhere I go
I hate everything I do.
I am wading in sulfur,
Waiting in space
Where there is no air,
Floating with dead angels
Who scream to pass the time,
We are falling into the light.
The mirror is reflecting a dark sky
And there is fire in its eyes
And its backside,
And I suppose they are mine;
My hair of weights,
My shoulder blades of grass.
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[23 Sep 2006|07:28pm] |
so they're not Bob Dylan, but I'd still say they're better than most of the shite out there
( my song lyrics )
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[21 Sep 2006|11:25pm] |
someone fall in love with me
now.
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| Sand Wings |
[13 Sep 2006|06:01pm] |
Blue hearted featherless
Bastard child of God
Smearing the mirror
With blood of your own.
The doors are clever
And only crack open,
But allow the breeze through.
Watch intently
The windmill illuminating
Your place in the universe.
It is a slow death
They say.
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| In Memory Of... |
[17 Aug 2006|10:30pm] |
The fatherless, who search their whole lives
For someone who will read them a story
And kiss them goodnight.
The childless, who always keep a bed made
In case they should ever find their way back home.
The military wives who wait on the shore,
Looking for a ship to come out
Of the bloodied horizon.
The lonely, who never see faces
Because they live in the shadows,
And the dying, who have seen
Their life’s eclipse;
May heaven keep a bed made for them.
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| God's Shadow |
[25 Jul 2006|08:41pm] |
wrote this in the Alaskan wilderness. ok, technically on the plane ride home
God’s Shadow
Beauty is a sword on fire
Cutting through our sackcloth eyes
So we can see again.
And to see the world
Is to let yourself be caught on fire,
Even when your bones are dry.
But we are the children
Of the generation
Raised on tales and folklore
Of Boeing 747’s, landfilling oil rigs
With missing child telethons
And yellow crossways,
A penchant for soul numbing,
Stuffed with drugs like a teddy bear,
Stuffed with anxiety,
Green means go,
Go, go, go.
Framing vistas into photo ops,
Snapping plastic eyelids
That flash like gunshots,
Remodeling the world into museums
And national parks,
Selling it to the devil’s market,
And we always make our money back.
The railroads, the asphalt,
It’s filling up our eyes,
It’s drowning our souls,
Is there any mystery left to the world?
We’ve been told the earth is melting,
And that we’ve used up every corner,
But there are pockets we’ve forgotten
And left behind,
And you won’t find them in Times Square
Or downtown L.A.;
The centers of the universe.
They’re in our blind spots,
The places we’ve ignored.
In the back roads, those less traveled,
Those untouched by man or history,
Grown and kempt without us.
The arctic North, the Southern jungles,
The deserts of our birthplace,
Mouths of water protected by mountain sentinels,
Dressed in fog and light.
Fields of ice and green,
Birds that deliver the messages of God,
Pets that keep us from madness,
Fires that make ashes dance
And burn away our past.
Tunnel clouds that carry the rain on their backs
And break away for the moon and the stars
That have never faded with the years,
And each one you see at night
On your back in the grass,
The hair of the earth,
Was looked upon by every great mind
That ever walked the earth.
Those infinite stars
Over an infinite backdrop,
If it does not make you feel small,
Then you are simply standing too tall.
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| Webster was much possessed by death, and saw the skull beneath the skin |
[24 Apr 2006|10:42pm] |
it makes me sick to my stomach to think about them. because i know what he'll do to her, and she doesn't deserve that. and he doesn't deserve her by a longshot.
i'm just tired of assholes being rewarded for trying to fuck everyone they come into contact with, and i get blown off into the throws for having geniune affection. and no intentions beyond arms to hold. i dont wanna live in a world that's this sick and unfair.
i come home everyday and i just get wrapped up in my own feelings and problems and thoughts that it just drives me crazy, because there's no one to keep it from happening. and i just try to write, and i try to play guitar, and i just pray and hope to God that one day all this pain will have been worth it to somebody else.
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[19 Apr 2006|05:36pm] |
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haha my uncles are possibly the funniest people alive. the one that lives in Alaska called the house in this hella thick redneck country yokel accent right now, and was telling me that my dad sold him an ice machine that was leaking, and he was gonna come down here and give me a country ass whooping, and he was so serious. ahhhh man you just had to have heard it, funniest stuff ever.
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| i'm rather angry tonight |
[02 Feb 2006|08:30pm] |
Bulimic Republic
Billboard mannequins line up the streets
Where their mothers break down and weep
For the love-sick children swept off their feet
By a dream that doesn’t come in your sleep
Of a standard they couldn’t possibly meet.
(You should be ashamed of what you do)
They’re the ideal blueprints for intelligent design;
Perfection is now the bare minimum,
So you better make sure that you don’t sit
On one of the benches reserved for the fit.
(Segregation never died,
It just found a new host
In the future leaders of America)
Victoria sniffs up her secret
On the bathroom sink,
Then she struts onto the camera
And into your daughter’s dreams...
There’s a girl I know that lives in the suburbs
Who’s always feeling a bit under the weather
Because purging doesn’t fit her into the latest sweater.
(Slaughtered animal is rather fashionable)
And the stores have run out of Moccasin footwear
(We don’t care about the Indians,
We just like the way we look in them).
Watch Abercrombie and Fitch
Make the slits from which you bleed
Out your wrists,
And you better make sure that it all fits;
Run to the bathroom and make yourself sick.
Because the Nazis of our psyches
Are marching through,
And the French supermodels
Are sniffing glue.
So put on your disguise,
Segregation never died.
But you should be afraid of what you do,
Because if there’s one thing
The oppressed know how to do,
Then it’s to rise up against you.
Black tears are dripping down your cheeks,
Let them fall and wash the mascara off your face.
A newborn child emerging from the waste,
You’re more beautiful than any words I could speak.
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[21 Jan 2006|10:23am] |
im depressed. but i shouldn't be really. so what's the deal? i dont know that ill ever really be okay. not as long as im still in madera wasting all my time and energy on school and convincing myself im not ugly.
i've got mucho poems but im just too lazy to type them up, and too afraid of hating them once i reread them.
linda, jessica, patrick, and chris were over last night. good times, but sometimes i realize how different i am from my freinds and it gets me down. i feel like i couldnt ever really stand to live with anyone else, and i keep feeling lately that im one of those people that just has to be alone. i push alot of people away, i have trouble getting close and attached to people. i dont know if im afraid, or just dont like people, or think that they'll distract me. i dont know.
but anyways, for the past week or two i've been getting just about every symptom of illness you can have, and its sorta freaking me out. probably my most primal fear is getting some kind of disease. i used to freak out about all the time when i was younger though, so now i just try to relax and not worry about it.
hm. i should go to karinas today. haha last week the damn car ran out of gas and we had to push to the gas station, which was luckily just down the street. everyone thought it was hilariously memorable, but i was just pissed off and embarrassed haha.
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| Untitled's |
[07 Jan 2006|11:44pm] |
The faucet has run long enough
And now I’m ready once again
To take a bath in sorrow.
Oh, how long it’s been
Since I felt these cold waters
Creep over my warm skin.
I dip my head under the surface
Where my lungs can never breath;
Oh, how under here
The world is so much
More serene.
-------------------------------------------
My mind’s been chewed to a pulp,
And when I take the heartache aspirin
That etherizes my head,
Hell freezes over
Just to harbor a blizzard,
And I trudge through the snow knee-high
To face the truth that’s been haunting
Every thought swimming behind these eyes;
That everything I ever feared
Was never really there at all.
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