Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Heart Drive

The music had hushed, Elliott Smith was quiet.
iTunes was working, but not working.
The time marker crept along, keeping time, but
no there was no sound except the underwhelming whirring
of the fan in the CPU and the slow, eerie,
which I had never heard before.
"Some thing's wrong." I said, grabbing the mouse
and selecting pause on the play options menu.
Quickly I selected
"Please wait while..."
I waited for a long minute before deciding
something was definitely wrong and used my index finger
to quicken the shut-down process.
The clicking ceased, the whirring quieted, and
another long minute passed.
A hopeful index finger depressed the power button and
the familiar high whistle of the fan blew again,
the motherboard chittered and chattered to life,
gears and gadgets creaked and clanged, and
the computer came to life, much like when any
man or woman wakes from a black sleep,
stretches and twists the body, preparing him bones and flesh
for the working day ahead. And though all these start-up sounds were familiar,
one sound stood out like a jewel in the sand, or
a dark spot stained against a flood of light.
"Fuck." was the preferred expletive.
"What the fuck is 'Drive F?'" It was not the drive I was looking for.
The drive I was looking for was not there.
I was looking for Drive H: Seagate
At least the clicking had stopped.
I unplugged the hard drive from it's mount and "Bum bum..."
the cheerful and dismissive sound of disconnecting a unit from it's port
chimed loudly out of my studio monitor speakers.
"At least it's being recognized..." I thought.
Carefully, I plugged the drive back into the slot, docking the unit to the CPU.
A cheerful and welcoming "Bum bum!" was pronounced along with a haunting
"Click...Click...Click..." from the little black drive.
I was starting to get scared.
"BZZZZZZ BZZZZZZ" shook my phone, and a blue light indicating a text glowed on and off.
"It's over... It's done..." I quietly announced.
My Mother busy with her crochet needles and yarn sat quietly on my bed,
her ears tightly cupped inside a pair of my headphones, listening to a YouTube program
streaming to her phone.
"10 years..." I thought.
"10 years of my work, my memories, my time, all erased; lost."
I thought about all the times I had fantasized about this happening,
losing my work, that is,
what I would do, how I would feel.
It was nothing like I had thought it would be.
I was painfully calm.
I didn't scream, I didn't cry, I didn't punch holes in the walls, I didn't
brag about it on Facebook,
instead, I accepted it.
Tracing the footsteps of my memories,
I traveled down many hallways to doors that had long been shut.
Pictures and art from high school; gone.
Pictures from the road trip with my estranged Father; gone.
Pictures of my lovers; gone.
All the late nights, every minutes, every hour, every trace of anything I've ever produced; gone.
My writing; gone.
All the music I stole; gone.
My memories; gone.
My time; arguably wasted.
Still, I did not scream. I did not suffer from any inverted orgasm.
I did not writhe. I did not quiver.
Instead, I responded to the blue flashing light and
joked about about how not all hope was lost, just "most of my stuff."

Monday, April 28, 2014

Thinking Out Loud

"Oh shit...."
I said to myself
as light from cars passing outside
danced across the office wall,
"...she's turning 27 this year..."
a quick personal pause
"..that's so....fucked!"
laughter burst out of me.

Ballpark Love

I could say dreams are curious, but are they really? I cannot recall a time that a dream has flirted any inquiry of me, it is only me that inquires into my dreams, or so it seems. What if we never spoke of dreams and regarded them as an off-shoot of memories? "What was it I was thinking?" Dreams are portals; step into the fissure and feel yourself carbonate. Bubbles rushing through your toes up and out of your nose. You're in deep, dark, thick, sleep. 

So, last night in my dream she was sitting next to me. We were at a ball game of some sort. It felt like baseball, but smelled like football. I sat with her and her girlfriend. The two were laughing and joking at topics easily ignored by a man. She sat next to me, plainly gorgeous, light, and womanly. She is a woman. And here in this stadium, immensely packed with blurred apparitions of people, she was my girl. I wasn't mad at her, but a little annoyed - much like my actual attitude towards her in my waking life. However, annoyed as I was, I was playful and caring, though hardened and quiet. She sat on my left, her hair in a bun, a black tank-top clung to her chest, and jeans that I did not see. A comfortable halt in her girly conversation and she turned to me, finally. Cracking a smile she sarcastically complimented me, "Ohhhh, look at those veiny arms of yours..."she joked, but meant it seriously. My arm outstretched, veins and all, responded immediately to the call. Annoyed, I was, but still in love. Her words still push, prod, and shove like they always have. She tried to turn, but I caught her in my gaze and stared at her as if in a daze. My face was cut as sharp as stone, and in that moment, we sat alone. Isolated in a crowded space, focused on my lover. 

And as I awoke the stadium went black, a heavy vignette shrouded my dream-girl and she was gone. I tossed in my bed from one side to the other, grasping frantically at a pillow, shoving it between my legs. It was early, too early to get up. I laid my head down and thought about that mystery until the waves of sleep carried me again into the sea. 

Friday, April 25, 2014


Don't take their bullshit.
Tell them right then and there
"No, you're wrong."
Tell 'em they're out of line
and need to get back in.
Tell 'em "No, you can have my time some other time."
Set your own schedule.
Be the hands on your own clock.
You're not here to only fill space,
you're here to create and manage space.
Do talk about it with your friends.
Don't do what you're friends are doing,
but learn from their actions how to
better shape your own.
Cause you're friends are fuck ups
and frankly, so are you.
So, don't take the bullshit.
Be the fucking Bull.

Thursday, April 24, 2014

Hold On (We're Almost There)

(For the people of Bangladesh and the souls of their loved ones- safe passage)

Take cover
it's coming down crashing
the ceiling is coming undone
piece by piece it's falling apart
the walls are crushed
and ground into dust
It breaks my heart
Hold my hand in yours...

us into salvation
Our bodies are given away
piece by piece we're all torn apart
our bones are crushed
and found in the dust
It's shakes my heart
Lord, my soul is torn

Don't worry
of who is to blame
the dark of the dawn has come
piece by piece we're taken apart
and sewn back up
bound by our trust
I place my heart
in the hands of yours

So hold on,
We're almost there..
We hold on,
We're almost there!

Take cover!
It's coming down crashing!
The ceiling is coming undone!

Wednesday, April 23, 2014


I appreciate the body
I appreciate the mind
I appreciate the soul
and I appreciate time

Thursday, April 10, 2014

"Nobody knows they are boring..."

That's funny, I have a very deep knowledge of what makes me boring.

And I'm proud of it. 
Keep looking forward, kiddo.
I want to see you succeed.

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Fact and Fantasy

I hate to see you go
but it's better that the hold
you had on me is loose
before the scenes of losing teeth
grip onto my dreams

It is not strange for me
to think of you with other men
In fact, it is a fantasy
that you are wed and happily


Pouring down the dark highway
just moments before the coming dawn
softening up my waking senses
raising Cain inside my skull

freaked out on a glowing highway
absorbed in the neon lights
pink and green intoxicate me
raucous laughter and muddled behavior

indistinct and inebriated
glazed and high, you know it ain't nothing
compotation on carousals
lit and lush, now I want something

on a trip of sent consumption
tumultuous and turbulent
dry and flaky on the inside
sobering up like a wet sponge in the Sun

pictures of her under the table
plastered on the bathroom wall
all my memories come on doubled
I am steeped in nostalgic behavior

intemperate and rebellious
baked and bombed, I'm all night long
enraptured and exhilarated
tanked and fried, got my hands tied

If it's all a dream
I'm ending it now
It's a break in the clouds
hard light shining down
There's a tear in my eye
from sinus congestion
am I dead or alive?
Well, that's the question..

Slipping out of that saturation
She's the rhythm, she's the sound
I desire no separation
So I dig in deep and make my girl proud

I can't touch her, but I can feel
her sine waves are oscillating
wired to my instrument
my tool, my love, I'm never leaving

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Twenty-First Century

Life can be so scary
especially when you know you're gonna die
wake up and work for hours
at a place you hate, and you're left wondering why

Life can be so stupid
when all the tables turn against you
been building this machine for ages
now it wont work, no matter what you do

My friends are changing
they're folding in on themselves
My family is aging
My memories are fading away

And I just want to be
I just want to be
I just want to be a loose screw

There's no need to be
no need to be
no need to be attached to the rules

Life can be so boring
just nine to five, five and nine, and nine to five again

I don't sleep
No time to dream
I wake up in the middle of the night and scream

I don't eat
I don't drink
I don't think about much
I just look around for the next available do-hah

Is it a problem
Or is it a solution?
I got problems
I need a revolution

Twenty-First Century
Twenty-One centipedes
The coins for your laundry and you
are the same thing