Friday, December 2, 2011

I should keep  one of these things with me at all times. That way when ever I get ideas I can jot them down quickly here.

Recently, I've learned that my preferred medium of writing (quickly) is via keyboard. I love hand writing certain thoughts and poems (using poems loosely), but typing is almost... second nature. It's been integrated into expressive traits. This must be through circumstance of being born in the computer age. My generation, and one before me, were a part of that great transition where computers were readily available for the new-wavers and still a gray mystery to the old-schooled. My mother, for instance, doesn't know jack about computers (or pretends not to). She is always asking me for help, she operates in waves of curiosity and insecurity when it comes to computers. For a time this frustrated me, but I came to a greater understanding of her struggles once I learned more about my great conveniences. It's easy being 23 in the 20th century. Everything is laid out in front of you. "How do you tie a knot?" "How do you give a massage?" "How do you sing?" One can almost guarantee that any question someone may have has already been adhered to the sticky walls of the internet (and, yes, they are very sticky). It may not be in English, it may not be worded the same way you would word it, but it has most likely already been asked. This isn't to say there is nothing left to be said or asked, but that there is going to be that much more to be questioned! Now that our puny species has come this far, our apex, we will continue to out-do ourselves by creating even more conveniences, more readily available information with ingenious practical ways to access said information. The "push-button" mentality has become greater. Search, find, devour. We are hunters and gatherers of the 20th century. We need not nutrition for our bodies any longer, flesh is now obsolete. We hunger now for vanity. This is the era of beautiful us. "Look at what WE have done, Great Universe! Look at us now!" It is a beautiful thing living in the future. Magic is real. Sustenance is possible. Immortality is just beyond the horizon (very advanced nano-technology will take care of those too quickly diminishing cells of ours). Quantum gravitation is here! We can make shit float!! What a rush of intense feeling I had when the assumed scientist placed a smoking disc atop a circular track, to see the disc floating there "locked in Quantum space." A flick of his finger and the disc raced above the track about an inch high. Possibility is here.

One morning, traveling from a small town to a larger town with a small city to a larger city with a small town, I began to get sick. I went from a warm bed, to a cold bathroom, to a warm showers, back to the bedroom, to a even colder outside, on to a very warm bus, to a cold bart station, to a warm bart train, continued on long cold walk to work, and finally to a mild stockroom. See the pattern yet? No wonder I was getting sick, my body is startled by these changing conditions! So now I leave the house wearing enough clothes to only feel one thing: cozy.

Recorded some songs the other night.. A session of live songs sung here in my bedroom. A comfortable setting for me.. alone in a dim lit warm space. Wearing the clothes that fit me best with a blonde guitar that buzzes and sings with the sweetest harmony. The buzz used to annoy me until I realized it wasn't the guitar that was buzzing, but buzzing because of me. So I changed my tune.. I play her differently and she sings to me. Very sweetly, the blonde guitar. Gave the redhead away to my sister. It wasn't until I gave it away that I realized how sweet she is. I played her softly against my chest and we sang together in the same breaths. Me and the redhead guitar. The brunette lost her strings because of a broken nut. I tried to repair it, but had purchased the wrong replacements. Now she's just hanging around, strings unbound. Went and bought a Frankenstein. A Fender-Johnson hybrid. Hums nicely. The Ibanez bass is quiet these days, but we play around every now and then. And the classic keeps me entertained.

Feeling pretty good about myself these days. Breaking bad habits down bit by bit. I've gone one week without a certain couple of poisons. Come one week two! Also changing my diet. Watched a documentary last night called Forks Over Knives. Very informative. I suggested anyone interested in bettering their health should watch that particular peice of work.

The night is dead and the day has begun. Off to have some fun. 

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Always Greener

always will be.

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Saturday, November 19, 2011

Zodiac Shit

Eh.. Listening to new music today, mate. In an Australian accent on a dirty beach. Waiting on still corners to meet Mr. Flash. Anywho, drugs are bad. How about you?  
Under a freeway

waiting for a train

In my bedroom

laying on my bed

an abandoned house

 by wayfaring tress

 name tag elephants

the smallest mushrooms

my feet in the sand

sun shining down on me

bigger things up ahead

better drinks to be had

treasuring the memories

all the faces I've seen

someone was always there

walking with me

underneath a freeway

hanging out with my shadow

Friday, November 11, 2011

The Accused

If I died today, I would be ashamed. Assured that my God would forgive me for the troubles I created. Approaching the lovely gates in awe as the accused, and, the accuser points his red fingers at me.

"He!" would he scream. "He is the child of yours that has disobeyed! That has lied! That has cheated his way! He! The uncanny soul that has drought of selfishness and not one ounce of pure honesty has dripped from his lips! He!" I would stand accused. My eyes large. Beckoning in trembling patience as the accuser jabs his crooked fingers at me. My body would be no more. Only a airy soul. And on some grand throne of which gold was born and pearl was inspired, the white-bearded judge. A smirk on his lips, eyes brows fashioned into a questionable state. He listens to the accuser, as he has listened time and time again, he listens to the red fingered hand, he listens to my trembling, he listens nothing between it all - and hears every thing. "He!" I stand. "He!" I shake. "He!" I stumble.
"He!" I interrupt.. "Have I not loved? Have I not toiled with hearts in the absence of emotion? There I found not love, but nothing. And that was all I found. Nothing was there when there wasn't love! I felt nothing.. But before then, before the passions of sin and the dangers of passion were invoked into me, was I not ignorant and loving? Did I not care with the tenderness of a man? I grew into a boy! And here, I stand, accused! I felt nothing when she was taken away!"

"STOP!" calls the judge.

"This has gone on long enough. You, son, were given only circumstance. Never coincidence. That is why you are here now. Not by coincidence, but because of circumstance. Do you know why you're here?"

My blank face sweeps into a puzzled stare.

"You, son, are here because everybody comes here. You are not the only one. You are not alone. Everyone must fall. You, son, have fallen no harder than I."

"..Than you?"

"Than any! We all suffer the same pain. We are tormented only by ourselves. You have been accused before, young man. You have been your biggest accuser, thus far! He..!" The judge points to the red fingered man,"He has accused you no more than you have accused yourself. Less, in fact. For you had to live in that body, on that rock. It is true, you are selfish. But, necessarily so. As a fish is selfish to eat another. As the ocean is selfish to the desert. You, young man, were merely irresponsible. ..and doubtful. You're doubt clouded your judgement, plagued your well being. Fear! Fear was your demon! Fear haunted you, caressed you, distressed you, and turned you to turmoil. It is true, I assigned fear to you. And, at times, you fought with courage. You held your head high with tears in your eyes. And at others you folded. Defeated."

The red fingered man sighed.

"Boy" said the judge "I am not your judge. I am your conciseness. I've spoken to you many times and many times you did not listen. In the end, you learned the ultimate lesson in the only way that your circumstance would allow."

A silence lingered.

"Boy" refrained the judge. "I will let you live. And you will live happily if you allow yourself to be so."

"But he!!" started the red fingered man.

"Silence!" The judge boomed. "The boy has learned but one lesson. He shall return to his Earth and he shall remain.. ..until he has learned his final lesson or until he is no longer fallible. If you continue to make mistakes, and you will make a few, you are to return here and we will continue this case and rest on a decision. Is that understood, boy?"

"Yes.. yes, sir."

"Then be gone. You will awake and you will continue your work. Goodbye"

A brilliant light shone from the judges throne and at once all was white. The boy aroused from his sleep. The morning was dark and pure. Red lights indicated the time: it was 4:42am. He felt as though he had slept for 100 nights. He was relieved to be in his bed. A nervous calm crept up his spine. He soothed his aching body with his hand and discovered a scar that had not been there before atop his head.

We could of have a house
a place to call our own
you would be in the living room
watching television
I would be in the bedroom
or guestroom
or garage
playing guitars
or drums.
Every day, I would serenade you with noise
and you would get annoyed.
Soon I would join you
and feel you warmly in my arms
your hair would sleep on my chest
my chin perched on your skull.
This gentle embrace could last forever
to the soundtrack of my noisy serenade.

We might have had a dog
and named him some incredible name
a husky or a terrier
lazy and untrained.
He'd lick our noses
no matter where we've been
no matter what we've done.
He would have been our first child
a hairy son.
We would have moments in the kitchen
lingering around the fridge
microwaving many dinners
until romance inspired a home cooked meal.
Some wild soup with corn and beef
paper thin cornbread.
A metaphor for casserole
passed down by many of your Mothers.
I would take your hand, dear
and stir myself in with your recipe.
Laughing in the oven.

Saturday, October 29, 2011

 It's a lot like this
I feel the need to (just)
And I do.
Not just
I can
and I should
I do.

 There's never really
a stopping point.
(But) If there was
I would not stop there.
If I did
I would not want to
stay there.
I would not want
to want
at all..
..and this is me

a lot like this

Thursday, October 27, 2011


 Meet my Demons
 Haunting me for years

 I buried them

at my feet

and left them to the sand

to one day wash away

Monday, October 24, 2011

San Francisco

If you
asked me
San Francisco
was like
I would

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