As the hues of the sky blend, do I not change?
The young know nothing and believe they know more.
The old know more and believe less.
When the wind blows, do I not quiver?
The young have nothing and trust without question.
The old question even themselves.
Now as the waves lap, do I not count the tides?
The young speak without thinking.
The old drown in their thoughts.
When the earth beckons, do I not die?
Kevin's Homepage
Monday, November 9, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Witness the crow
Witness the crow on a grassy prowl
how the universe trembles
now here we are as always before, our light cast about
shiver and bow
talk quickly and smile as this happens fast
witness the crow on a dark misty path
what’s done is done
rest under grass
watch the leaves quiver and crumble
dangers unknown
you were once among them
dance as a child alive in the snow
what falls has fallen
witness the crow
how the universe trembles
now here we are as always before, our light cast about
shiver and bow
talk quickly and smile as this happens fast
witness the crow on a dark misty path
what’s done is done
rest under grass
watch the leaves quiver and crumble
dangers unknown
you were once among them
dance as a child alive in the snow
what falls has fallen
witness the crow
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Still Waiting
Half passed nigh
Anxiety riddled
Wise of the skies to lie
Take this for that and that for this
Thronged with self-righteousness
Pocket a treasure. Give it a kiss.
Creatures ten times your size
Heed a warning, burn a fence
Learn to dance with half the steps
Hear something interesting?
I’m still waiting for something real
Be it pain, be it rage
Blemish my shinny cage
Just a patch of rust gives way to lust
And then and then
A bitter condition indeed
Shackling and skulking about
Pity. Breaking. Screaming.
Covet the fires of Sodom and Gomorra
Find refuge in refuse
Bend your knee
Fore the sky once kind to lie now burns
Anxiety riddled
Wise of the skies to lie
Take this for that and that for this
Thronged with self-righteousness
Pocket a treasure. Give it a kiss.
Creatures ten times your size
Heed a warning, burn a fence
Learn to dance with half the steps
Hear something interesting?
I’m still waiting for something real
Be it pain, be it rage
Blemish my shinny cage
Just a patch of rust gives way to lust
And then and then
A bitter condition indeed
Shackling and skulking about
Pity. Breaking. Screaming.
Covet the fires of Sodom and Gomorra
Find refuge in refuse
Bend your knee
Fore the sky once kind to lie now burns
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Old Writings
Bubble Land
In a bubble of bullet proof glass existed a world where evil and deceit ruled the hearts of a strange breed of man. There was a boy made of gold, who cared so much for status and perfection that he survived, not on food, but on affirmations. The golden boy hid crucible tongs up his sleeve and carried an ingot mold in his pocket. There was a free-floating mouth with jagged teeth. The mouth spoke only dramatic words and gossiped endlessly without ever taking a breath. Nothing could stop the mouth, and all of the inhabitants of Bubble Land, except the Jester, loved to kiss the mouth. There was a drunken musician, who never spoke kindly, but sung so sweetly. She was contradictory and would often sing and speak in the very same sentence. The golden boy hated the drunken musician, because she would not sing his praises. There was a spook, who could change herself into any object she wished, but never told anyone. She was snitch and a liar, yet all the players in Bubble Land liked her, because she would make them feel important. The spook was powerful and cunning, and often lavished the players with gifts to win their favor. There was a Jester. The jester always spoke the truth, no matter how harmful or helpful. Many of the players took his truths for jest, because lies were commonplace in Bubble Land. The jester was feared and loved, but cared for neither. There was a little white witch, whose hair glowed so brilliantly that her face was not visible. She loved all things worldly and could only hear and see negative things. The jester liked the little white witch, because she had enchanted his mind into believing she was truthful. The little white witch liked the golden boy, when he wore certain faces that pleased her, which he did quite often, because she would then affirm him. The golden boy liked the spook, because of her constant flattery. The spook liked the jester, because he would tell her everything. The drunken musician liked only herself, and the mouth didn’t care for any of them, because the mouth could only talk without thinking.
***
Muddy Girls
I was visiting my sister one day at the apartment complex where she lived. It was a nice spring day and the hills around the apartment complex were muddy. I was about ten or eleven years old. Some of the kids from the apartment complex were playing outside, and I joined them. We took turns running up one of the muddy hills and then sliding down on our feet. It was fun. I made friends with one of the girls I was playing with. She seemed nice. When the rest of the kids went to the playground, the girl and I stayed behind and continued to play on the hill. We had been playing for ten minutes or so when she fell in the mud and hopelessly soiled her clothes. I helped her up and she began to cry. I asked her if she was okay. “What am I going to do? My mother will be so mad at me,” she said. Before I could say anything, she ran off toward the apartment complex. I returned to my sister’s apartment, where my mother and sister were preparing dinner. There was a knock on the door a few minutes later. I opened the door and there stood the girl, in clean clothes, and her mother. “That’s the boy who pushed me down,” the girl exclaimed. My mother and sister joined me in the doorway. The girl’s mother was angry and swore several times as she explained how I had pushed her daughter into the mud and ruined her clothes. I stood in the background and stared at the girl in disbelief. She looked at me with such realistic conviction and hatred. I then realized why she had lied, and for a fleeting moment I felt the sadness of it all. “I’m sorry,” I said, over the ranting of the girl’s mother. “I’m sorry I pushed you into the mud,” I said to the girl. My mother and sister couldn’t believe I had done such a thing. The topic ruined our dinner, not to mention the next week of my social life. I knew the truth, and for me the truth is all that matters.
***
The Paper Cage
There once was a lion on a chain in the center of town. One day a little girl came to him with her troubles and told him secret things. The lion took kindly to the girl, fore it had been a long time since anyone had spoken to him in such a way and he felt sorry for her. For many days the lion and the girl confided in each other. The little girl loved his attention and affirmations. She tricked him into believing she cared for him so he would continue to love her. The townspeople became suspicious of the lion and the girl. Some of them thought it was inappropriate for such different creatures to have a relationship. As much as the little girl enjoyed the lion’s attention, she valued the opinions of strangers over his, and one day she told the lion that she was not in love with him. Much to her surprise, the lion answered, “I have cared about you, but have never been in love with you.” The little girl was vain and spiteful, and refused to believe that the lion did not love her. “The lion in the center of town loves me,” she told the townspeople. Because the lion was chained, only those closest to him knew the truth. The lion was modest and virtuous in his actions, but soon realized what the little girl had done. No longer did she confide in him. No longer would she tell him her secrets, and one day he roared at her. “Why has this beast roared at me?” asked the little girl in a loud voice. “The lion has roared at me without cause,” she said to anyone who would listen. The townspeople were immoral and pugnacious, and although they knew of the girl’s relationship with the lion, they sided with her. The lion, embarrassed by his actions and angered by the little girl, pulled his stake from the ground and chained himself at the edge of town. Some of the townspeople visited him and told him the girl was still spreading rumors. The lion called to the girl from the outskirts of town and she came to him. “Why have you lied about me?” asked the lion. The little girl patted his mane. “I have not lied,” she said. The lion regretted roaring at the girl, despite what she had done, so he apologized for several days from the edge of town. The little girl was busy repairing her public image, but eventually visited the lion and again reassured him that she still cared for him. Several days passed and the lion became lonely. “Where are you?” he called to the girl. “I have said I am sorry,” he cried. “I don’t understand why you have left me alone.” The little girl never spoke to the lion again, but sent an angry messenger who warned the lion not to bite the girl again or there would be consequences. “I have not bitten anyone,” replied the lion, and although he had done nothing wrong, the lion agreed to pull up his stake again and leave the area forever. He still cared deeply for the little girl and wanted what was best for her. Weeks passed and the lion found a new home where he felt at peace. The little girl was not accustomed to such shivery and therefore perceived the lion’s actions as a scheme. She shared her conspiracy theory with an empty-hearted woman who knew less about love than she, and the two whipped themselves into a paranoid frenzy. “He has tried to bite me on several occasions,” said the little girl. “I always knew he was a biter,” said the empty-hearted woman. Because of the girl’s false claims, the angry messenger hunted down the lion and threatened to kill him. The lion, although modest, was no coward, and roared loudly at the foolish messenger, who then placated the lion with lies of peace, when in fact the girl had already filed a formal complaint with the judge. The judge pulled the lion away from his new home and ordered him to be held in a paper cage in the center of town for one year. Anger welled up in the lion, but he stayed in his cage. “I keep myself on a chain for a reason,” said the lion to the wind. “This paper cage is not what keeps them safe from retaliation.” Eventually the little girl became bored and again falsely accused the lion of biting her. The lion unhooked his chain and bit the little girl. "Why have you bitten me?" asked the girl. "Why not?" answered the lion.
***
Fear The Dragon
There once was a small town surrounded by a forest of birch trees. None of the townspeople had ever gone beyond the birches, fore it was rumored a dragon lived there and would promptly eat anyone caught trespassing on his land. The small town did well for itself: trade was good, people were healthy, and life was peaceful and satisfying.
A young boy was busy splitting wood one day when a crow came and perched atop his wood pile. “Surely you do not believe a dragon lives beyond these woods,” said the crow to the boy, who became a bit startled and stopped his laboring, as it was not a normal occurrence for a crow to speak in such a way. “I believe it as truly as I believe you spoke to me just now,” said the boy. “Well,” said the crow, “then isn’t it possible there is just as good of a chance that the dragon does not exist?” The boy resumed chopping. “I haven’t the time for this quibbling.” There was a short silence, and then the crow spoke again, as he was fond of doing so: “What if I could guide you safely to the outer rim of the forest and prove the dragon to be a myth?” The boy paused for a moment to think. “Simply the absence of the dragon in one spot would prove nothing. Who is to say the dragon would not be at some other place?” The boy tossed two pieces of freshly cut timber on the pile. The crow took flight, but after a bit of angry squawking, settled back on his perch. “Foolish boy, what proof do you have anyhow?” “Such a small creature should not question such great things,” said the boy, “but since you have the persistence of a whining mosquito, I will explain.” The crow swooped down from the wood pile and sat attentively upon his haunches on the chopping block. “Each fall the dragon’s breath scorches the leaves and the forest is stripped of everything green. The crow rolled his eyes. “Is but Mother Nature who does such things, but go on.” The boy continued as though the crow had said nothing, “then, in winter, the dragon can be heard creeping in the forest, snapping and cracking branches as he goes.” “Is but a bitter frost that causes such sounds, foolish child.” The boy raised the ax above his head. “Brave words for a crow on a chopping block.” The crow stood. “But wait! What does the dragon do now during the summer?” The boy thought for a moment. “I don’t know, sleeps I suppose.” The crow spread his wings and shrugged. “Then why not take a walk with me around the outer rim of the forest, and if there is a dragon he will be asleep anyhow.” The boy paced the yard in contemplation. “Alright, I will go with you, but on one condition.” “Yes, yes,” said the crow impatiently. “If we find a sleeping dragon, you must agree to be my pet.” The crow crossed his wings. “I’ve never heard such an absurd proposition, but I agree, on the condition that if we find no dragon, you must be my pet.” The boy chuckled. What would a crow want with a boy?
The two hiked through the forest until they reached the outer rim. Vistas of rolling hills spread out as far as the eye could see. The boy made a mark on one of the trees and the two set accross the hills until they came upon it again. “Well,” said the crow, “it looks as though you shall be my pet.” “I shall be no such thing,” cried the boy, and he ran into the forest. The crow, although upset, came to enjoy the rolling hills and soon made himself at home. Summer passed, and with the return of fall came the dragon, who, upon finding the crow nesting in his territory, became very upset and ate him.
Years passed and the boy became a man. The man retold his account of the outer rim to the townspeople many times and eventually all fear of the dragon left their hearts. “It is but Mother Nature who does such things and causes such sounds,” they came to say. One summer they cleared the birch forest and settled among the rolling hillside. Summer passed, and with the return of fall came the dragon, who, upon finding the townspeople in his territory, became furious, burned their dwellings to the ground, and ate them all except for one. The dragon towered over the cowering man. “Come closer and listen to my words,” he roared. The man trembled in place and dropped to his knees. The dragon lowered his massive head until the heat from his nostrils singed the man's skin. “Travel due west 131 miles as the crow flies and find the forest of maples. Share with the townspeople there what you have seen here. Leave no doubt in their minds that I exist.”
***
The Commuter
“Write about what you know, and you can’t go wrong,” my old teachers would tell me. I’ve gone wrong lots of times, and had I stuck to their golden rule, I would have run out of things to write about by now. But now that I’m 30, I know a few more things, and can return to the old rule for a moment. One of the things I know about now is work. Like most people my age, I’ve spent the last twelve years of my life making other people rich. People I’ve never met: people I don’t want to meet. I don’t intend to shove my résumé down your throat, so don’t get all excited about it. Actually, what I intended to do is share my commute with you.
I don’t get up at the crack of fucking dawn, like the radio jocks imply all day. FM radio was made for nine-to-fivers I guess; FM radio is dead to me anyhow, so what the hell do I care? I start out at noon, and it’s not ‘cause I’m lazy. I happen to work nights. The most I ever hear of the peppy “Lunch Bunch” set is maybe a syllable of a Jolly John used car ad, which, if you’ve ever heard one, you know is more than enough to make you want to kill yourself.
So, like I said, I leave my place at noon. I drive by the old lady with the perpetual yard sale, the house with the barking dog, and sometimes, depending on the weather, the old man who spends all day making love to his vinyl fence, with Windex. Shit, imagine Windexing a fence. I’m morally opposed to vinyl fences. Pretty soon even Tom Sawyer will be Windexing the fence and nobody will remember what paint is.
Every so often the people who own the dirt road I live on pay a bunch of rednecks to come and fill in the potholes with dirt. Last spring, the owners sent a letter claming that the new dirt was “special” and would last longer. Special must mean more expensive, because my lot rent went up by ten bucks a month too. Ten bucks don’t sound like a lot, but that’s 120 bucks a year I could be spending on better stuff than dirt. The special dirt, by the way, didn’t last any longer than the regular dirt, and the potholes were back, bigger than ever, by mid summer. Shocks and struts are two things I could be spending that 120 bucks on.
The road to the main road isn’t bad; it’s all downhill and not much happens there. You’d think I would know the name of the damn street, but I don’t. One day I hit a cat on the hill that goes to the main road. I stopped and looked around for the owner, and all that came of it was practically givin’ an old man a heart attack for no reason when he thought it was his. Turns out, it was nobody’s cat and I ended up leaving it in the woods behind a dumpster. I didn’t know what the hell to do with it. What would you do with it? I’m sure you have some great ideas now, but at the time, you wouldn’t have known either.
Anyway, down at the stop sign, at main road, there’s enough room for two cars to stop side by side: cars turning left across traffic, and cars simply turning right. I turn right. I’ll be damned if every day I don’t get stuck behind some jackass who sits in the middle and waits to turn left. To make things worse, people turning left off the main road sometimes try to pull a Mother Teresa and wave on the person turning left from the stop sign. The only trouble is, they don’t have the authority to say when it’s safe, because cars are rushing past them while they’re waiting to turn. I’ve seen some close calls at that stop sign.
After the stop sign, I drive passed a pharmacy, two gas stations, and a McDonald’s. The line for the drivethru at McDonald’s sometimes spills into the street. You know you’ve got problems if you end up in that line. How fucking stupid is that? - Blocking traffic so you can get a fucking Happy Meal. I don’t eat that garbage at McDonald’s, but I do get a coffee at Dunkin’ Donuts.
Before I turn in to the Dunkin' Donuts parking lot, I count how many cars are in the drivethru. If there’s three or less, I join them, but if there’s any more than that, I go inside. There can be as many as fifteen cars in the drivethru and it never occurs to any of them to go inside. On days like that, I go inside, get my coffee and then drive by the line outside to showoff my coffee. I don’t always win at Dunkin’ Donuts though. It’s a gamble either way. The other day I spent 17 minutes behind some prick in the drivethru who thought it was cool to order a dozen fancy drinks. I swear, some people order the wrong shit on purpose just so they can have something to bitch about. I get the same thing everyday: medium coffee with cream and one sugar.
My next stop is the gas station. Everyone’s bitching about gas these days, but not everyone has the right to. If you’re stupid enough to buy a big truck or SUV, suck it up. Ten years ago, gas was around $1.00 a gallon. Now, it’s $4.00 a gallon. That’s a 400% increase. So, when I’m 40, I plan on paying $16.00 a gallon. I don’t know about you, but my pay certainly hasn’t quadrupled in the past ten years. If I make $8.00 an hour and my car gets 30 miles per gallon, I’m spending $8.00 an hour to drive at 60 mph; I’m spending more to drive my car per hour than I’m making at work per hour, and that doesn’t seem right.
The first thing I see once I’m on the highway is a line of shiny blue State Police cars, sitting in a row in the “authorized vehicle’s only” strip between the lanes. There must be half a dozen of them, waiting like cowards for people traveling north to crest the hill. I push my car to about 100mph for a mile or so after I go by. I see more shit on my ride to work than they’ll ever see sitting there. They could spread out and actually do some good, but that’s not what it’s about. It’s all about money. They steal it from the public so they can buy more shiny blue cars and make more money. Law enforcement is a business, not a service. I’m not on either side though. I don’t like the shitty drivers either, but at least they don’t usually cost me money, except for when they run into me.
I put my car on cruise control, around 75mph, and watch the show. That’s what I call it, The Show: young drivers with loosely connected heads, old drivers with bad depth perception, dick heads with no patients. I watch it play out like a bad physical comedy. I don’t care enough to play their game. I just laugh at them and roll on. They will all get what they deserve; most of them are getting it already and don’t even realize it. I don’t have any control over any of that. I don’t care if they know it or not.
After I get off the highway, I race up through a bunch of lights and usually make it to work on time. Sometimes I have a few minutes to sit the car and shuffle though my mail before I go in. Other times, I button my shirt on the way through the door. It all depends on the commute.
***
Pay at the pump
For the past year or so, I’ve been buying my gas at the only remaining gas station in town which doesn’t require pre-payment or pay at the pump. Now, because of drive-offs, they too have switched to pre-payment or pay at the pump. I was pissed. I took a half hour drive after work to the neighboring town, to the only gas station that trusts people to pay after pumping. For starters, I’m being totally raped by the gas station, oil companies, and everyone else in the world who undeservingly demands my hard-earned money. Almost everything I buy turns out to be a complete piece of shit. I can't be the only one who’s noticing this. And what recourse do I have? None! I’m fucked and that’s it, period. My solution to this is to simply stop being a consumer and only buy things I really need. Anyway, back to the pump. Paying at the pump encourages people to use credit cards. The average American already has over $8,000 in credit card debt. I don’t think we need any more encouragement. Credit cards are being marketed and supported as a necessity, much like your stupid cell phone you have glued to your ear while you almost crash into me while driving that car you owe an outrageous amount of money on- but I digress. Let’s say I use my debit card instead of my credit card, which I do, I don’t want to run my card twice! I’ll have to run it at the pump and then go inside and run it again. I don’t get charged more from my bank or anything like that, but it’s just stupid! Why make my bank statements and checkbook more complicated? Why do I have to be inconvenienced? My other option is to go in and pre pay. I have to walk in, guess how much my car will hold, and either put too little in or end up going back in the store and waiting in line AGAIN to get my change. All because some people are driving off without paying. I can’t say I blame’em. Have you seen the price of gas?! They probably can’t afford it. I can barely afford it! In 1997 gas was around a dollar a gallon. Since then it has tripled. The toll booth where I work used to be 30 cents and now it’s 60. Heating costs are through the roof, houses are practically unattainable for most people, and debt is out of control, individually and globally. Has your pay doubled or tripled lately? Mine certainly hasn’t! We are being suffocated by the very structure we created. The rich continue to get richer and the poor… well ya know. America has only been around for a short time. China has had hiccups that have lasted longer than our entire history to date. If things don’t change now, America will fail. It’s textbook civilization failure. We are Rome. Hundreds of years from now, the entire United States experience could turn out to be just a footnote in time. Some highly intelligent Somali kid will read this in his history book and laugh at our stupidity and arrogance. So what can I do? In the end, all I can do is write things like this, because all gas stations will become pre pay, all items will be marked up, and most Americans don’t care enough to do anything about it and even if they do, they are practically powerless. It’s a fragile existence we’ve dreamed up. I’m sorry to say, The American Dream seems more like the American myth to me. How long should I allow myself to be exploited and abused by a system, a government, and a society that doesn’t care, before I put up some sort of resistance, even if only a futile resistance? We must become proactive if we are to survive.
***
Payday
Usually I wake up at 7am, but today is my day off, so here I am at 9am staring at the ceiling. All of those fools would be settled in to their cubicles by now, pushing paper and processing meaningless crap. God, I hate those people. Then it dawned on me: not only was it my day off, it was payday too.
I rolled out of bed and fired up the desktop while I brushed my teeth. "Almost 30 and aging gracefully," I thought to myself; far from muscular, but showing promise. I can't stand the people at the gym, so I bought myself a BowFlex.
I sat down at the computer and checked my bank account, paid a few bills, and checked my email. Several of my credit cards are maxed out. The fees are twice as much as the minimum payments. How is that legal? Bastards. Oh well, I can just skip a cell payment to make up the difference.
I shut the computer down and flicked on my new plasma TV. I ordered satellite TV, but until it arrived, I was stuck watching the same 100 cable channels. Channel surfing was starting to make my thumb numb when my cell phone chimed to life. My ring tones are always the best; I won my current tone,In Da Club, by 50Cent, from a Pepsi bottle cap. The person had the wrong number and I hung up. Damn people, stop wasting my anytime minutes! I texted my friend and asked him if we were drinking tonight. Last weekend was amazing, not that I can remember most of it, but I got a bunch of sweet pics to post on myspace.
No food in the apartment, so I hopped in my car, a brand new VW Rabbit that my parents cosigned for. My monthly payments are nearly half my income, but I love my car and it came with a great warranty. I called the movie theater on my way to the store and listened to the choices. Nothing good was playing. I stopped at an ATM and withdrew the rest of my paycheck. "Probably enough for a bag," I thought. Some guy fucking cut me off in traffic. I flipped him off and threatened to kill him, but when he pulled over I decided to keep going- fucking moron.
I can't believe the price of gas. I paid at the pump with one of my credit cards and burned a strip of rubber when I left. I got cut off again on the turnpike. It's like people only think about themselves. I tossed my change into the exact-change booth and sped up to the guy and tailgated him for awhile. Dick. Once in town, I bought some snacks and paid at one of the new self checkouts. It was so much faster than waiting for those retards to ring up everything. I bought a few lottery tickets from a vending machine on my way out the door, but I didn't win anything.
I decided to go home to eat lunch and find some good competition on X-box live, or at least some pathetic losers to pick on. I made one more stop before home to get a pack of cigarettes. The clerk checked my ID. I'm obviously over 18. What an asshole. I quickly slid my debit card, punched in my pin, and left without taking my receipt. "Have a nice day?" Fuck you.
Back at home, I fired up the X-box and quickly checked my myspace messages. One of my other friends had already scored some pot, thank God. I don't think I could make it through this weekend without any. I went to youtube and checked my videos. I get hundreds of views and dozens of subscribers everyday. Some loser, Kevin JD Kismet, tried to post a stupid comment on one of my videos the other day and he totally got owned, because I didn't approve his comment. He wrote this long message that I didn't even read. What a loser.
***
Ninja Nightmare
I was in high school, but I was the age I am now, I wasn't young again. I was outside walking around the school building. It was summer time. There was a group of people sitting at a table outside next to the building. My wife (who I actually did go to high school with), my friend from work, and his little sister (17 years old in real life, but was more like 13 in my dream, and I've never met her) sat at the table. They kept teasing me because I couldn't beat some sort of video game. They were saying things like, "You can't figure out how to power-up on the 34th level, what a loser," and stuff like that (I don't even play video games very much). I got really pissed and stormed off, walked around the corner of the building, and started playing a video game. I'd get to a part in the game where I didn't know what to do and I'd go ask them for help, only to get ridiculed again.
That was the first part of the dream. The next part's better, or worse, depending on how you want to look at it.
All of a sudden (classic dream descriptor) I was sitting at a round, orange, lunch table in the middle of the hallway at school. Three other people sat with me. To my left sat a thin Asian man. He was an older man, but obviously not someone to mess with. To his left there was a young Asian woman crouched on her seat. She crouched, completely motionless, holding two katanas crossed in front of her. A Somalian woman in her mid-twenties sat to my right. I was eating Twizzlers. The Somalian woman started to yell angrily in her native tongue at no one in particular. The yelling went on for a while and then out stepped my Home Economics teacher from my freshman year of high school. She started yelling back at the Somalian women, in Somali. The young women got up and went in a room with my old teacher. I continued to eat my Twizzlers.
The Asian man seemed friendly and we talked a little bit. I remarked to the crouching woman with the swords, "Ya know, you don't have to sit like that." Just then, my wife walked up and stood just behind her. Before my wife could say anything, the Asian woman turned quickly and slit my wife's stomach open. Blood began to pour out and she looked shocked. I jumped up on the table and began to violently whip the Asian woman across the face with Twizzlers. The Asian man quietly stated, "That's not a good idea." The Asian woman had a completely flat affect the entire time. She took her two swords and expertly intertwined her blades with my wrists. She paused a moment with my wrists trapped in her blades, and then with one swipe she pulled the swords away, instantly slitting both my wrists down to the bone.
***
Five Steps
There were only five steps left. Had I only taken the time to double check my books or not stopped to talk with the professor, I wouldn't be here. No time for anger I suppose. Anger seems silly now. It all seemed silly now. I had fallen hard and twisted my arm in an unnatural angle. Gun shots continued to ring in the air with violence, further away now with no more clout than a cap-gun. Shock rendered me numb, thankfully. Judging from the intense thrust I'd received, added to my fall, I should be in a considerable amount of pain. I never imagined myself as a gunshot victim wishing for more pain, but life is like that sometimes. My view was less than spectacular, a close-up of cold stone and a chewed piece of gum. "I want to see the sky," I prayed out loud. "Just one more time, I want to see the sky." I aimlessly moved my arm around in a vain attempt to summon help. My arm tired quickly. Blood pooled around my face and a shiver rolled though me. The last drops of adrenaline rushed though my system and darkness followed. I pictured the old stone staircase. I had heard the shots behind me and bolted up the stairs. Five more steps and I probably would have been safe. There were only five steps left.
In my mind Vol. I
You walked into my home wearing a long black coat and bright white smile. With a monkey on my lap and a bag of chips, I didn't know what to say. I improvised. Luckily speling doesn't mater I thought.
"Do evil things," you whispered.
I was stuck in third gear, but then again, if third gear is all you have, I guess you're not really stuck. The sky was an odd shade of green and the children were gone. Should I play dead or run for my life?
"You chose poorly," was all you could say; encroaching. Yes, you heard me right.
Ripping a hole and throwing it all away again, the trees bowed down and the earth shook apprehensively. I wouldn't be afraid of the dark if I were blind. I closed my eyes and peered at the world I'd left behind. Quite the view.
"Where are you taking me?"
Beasts of various statures populated the once desolated landscape. Some wore masks. Some stood firm. Others ran from me. I attempted to read your expression, but was distracted by the spectacle evolving in the distance. Something was approaching. Slowly and steadily it traversed the hills and valleys, disappearing, reemerging, closer and closer. Metronomes couldn't have kept better time.
"This is for you," you spoke sharply. My body ached vehemently. "Understanding is not the most important facet of wisdom. Prove nothing and live better. Do not try to explain what you have seen. They will not believe you. Go now, and take what I have given you."
The way is long and difficult, but in the pain there is joy and righteousness. When and where? Eat it, don't eat it. Kill or be killed. Believe almost nothing and create your own plain. Invitations go unanswered. This is the way it must be.
Years had passed, yet there we stood. Back home again. The monkey bit me and I shoved it from my lap. To this day, the floor bares his mark.
"Someday you will suffer for what you have shown me," I said.
Your smile faded. Fingers to fangs and eyes to pearls, your coat burned bright white. My hand protected my face, but not my heart. Windows rattled in their sashes as you spoke one last time. You knew the words could never be written. I remember every syllable.
Alone, yet never alone, I collapsed to the floor. The smell of countless dead lingered offensively. Again I saw the hills and valleys. Again I witnessed the beasts. Now however, they all stood silently naked in the heated field. The thing that had approached with such ferocity before was only a child now, my child. He greeted me with a smile and I returned the gesture.
***
In My Mind Vol. 2: The Anatomy of Random Writing
Just because they go there doesn’t mean they should. No one ever asked about the taste. What if it was more than palatable? What if it was tasteful? Curiosity and morbid taste full of tired bywords and meaningful rhetoric is not enough here (pointing, always pointing. Pay attention!). Here you will get no answers. Here you will be forever lost among the turbid plumes of a mortal’s threshold for thought and dream. Don’t assume you can unveil what lies beneath. Even if you arrive primed with ten pair and one, you will be too late- will you not? Sanctions are lurking, and yet you trifle on a crusade for things better left unsaid. Follow me for a circuit whilst I show you the worlds within worlds, within words, within worlds, and suffer my affections: In the dark there was a craven crow and in his heart there was a box and in this box there was a key to a house made of what? That’s the question I ask myself everyday. Quite trite I always say. What’s the diffidence? Who would sacrifice themselves to be lost? Usually such tasks are left to fate, or stupidity, if there is a difference. Don’t ever forget: just because I don’t, doesn’t mean I can’t. And grey is still a color, strictly speaking. Don’t pine for me, don’t mourn for me, don’t cry for me, don’t speak for me, don’t think for me, don’t wait for me, don’t question me- I take that back, question me frequently. The fractions of this you recognize speak only to your knowledge and logic. Wisdom and truth, beauty and love, death and life are what I seek.
The Anatomy of Random Writing
I will now attempt to diagram some random writing and explain the meaning line by line.
In My Mind Vol. 2
Just because they go there doesn’t mean they should.
“They” referrers to a set of people, two or more, who engage in an activity, either literally or metaphorically. They could be physically going somewhere, or going there in slang terms, which would mean they were altering social conditions, perhaps undesirably. “Doesn’t mean they should,” equates to shouldn’t, which is a subjective word used to judge right from wrong. In this case, someone is judging the aforementioned set of people. We don’t know who they are, where they are going, or who is judging them at this point. Are they going to McDonalds and you, the reader, think fast food is gross? Or, are they breaking informal social constructs that offend social norms, and society as a whole is judging them? Or, are they being judged by a higher power?
No one ever asked about the taste. What if it was more than palatable? What if it was tasteful?
The next few sentences are a play on words and shed light on the first sentence. Unlike the first sentence, these sentences have an actual author-dictated meaning. The taste the author is alluding to is that of the fruit from The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Knowing this, it can then be assumed that they are a man and a woman, not a group of people, and what they are doing is probably not a trip to McDonalds. But what is it they are doing? Palatable means food that tastes good, but it also means palatable ideas: acceptable or agreeable to the mind or feelings. The word "tasteful" adds the idea that whatever it is they are doing might possibly be in good taste as well.
Curiosity and morbid taste full of tired bywords and meaningful rhetoric is not enough here (pointing, always pointing. Pay attention!).
Where is here? Here is in the mind of the author, hence the title. Again the author uses the word “taste,” only this time in a negative context, possibly hinting at an outsider’s psychologically unhealthy curiosity. To whom this sentence is addressed is unclear, but it can be assumed it is either the female mentioned above, or society in general who sits in judgment of them, or both. A byword is a proverbial phrase, like saying, “Man’s best friend,” instead of, “Dog”. It also means an object of notoriety or interest; the object in this case being the author’s mind. The phrase “meaningful rhetoric” as an oxymoron is intended for the judgmental public; however, it also has a positive translation which is intended for the female. The parenthesized words, “pointing, always pointing,” are for the public, and the short sentence, “Pay attention!” is for the possibly distracted female. The author is saying to the girl that his mind is a complicated place. He is also warning the public that their negative opinion of his relationship with the female is probably incorrect.
Here you will get no answers. Here you will be forever lost among the turbid plumes of a mortal’s threshold for thought and dream. Don’t assume you can unveil what lies beneath.
Again, here means the authors mind, where there are no answers. Answers to what? I don’t know, hence, no answers. A mind with no answers is probably full of questions, which could cause someone to become lost. The atmosphere of the author’s mind is seemingly unstable and not completely coherent. He warns her that she will probably become another set of questions rather than the answer to anything. Turbid means cloudy, murky, or muddy; it’s what happens when sediments are stirred up, which is possible, metaphorically, if she starts poking around at the, “threshold for thought and dream”. What ever it is he is truly hiding, she will probably never find it, especially since he most likely doesn’t even know what it is to begin with.
Even if you arrive primed with ten pair and one, you will be too late- will you not? Sanctions are lurking, and yet you trifle on a crusade for things better left unsaid.
Primed means to be ready and it also means to be of high quality. Ten pair and one would equal 21, which is the age of the girl, who, although in the prime of life, is too late. Too late for what? Here we get the idea that the relationship between the author and the girl could have been more had the timing been right, but apparently he has moved on, is much older, or is committed to another woman, which would explain the previous judgments by society. Sanctions can be permissions or punishments depending on the context. In this context they could be both. The author could be saying that certain permissions will be granted, but that these permissions may lead to negative consequences.
Follow me for a circuit whilst I show you the worlds within worlds, within words, within worlds, and suffer my affections: In the dark there was a craven crow and in his heart there was a box and in this box there was a key to a house made of what? That’s the question I ask myself everyday. Quite trite I always say. What’s the diffidence?
Despite all of his ambivalence, the author decides to take the girl for a spin. The words within worlds are what make up his reality. He knows she will not understand, but shows her anyway with a riddle. After the riddle, for which he gives no answer, because, again, there are none, he then seems to fall apart into word play that suggests he may not be as interesting or as confident as he seems.
Who would sacrifice themselves to be lost? Usually such tasks are left to fate, or stupidity, if there is a difference. Don’t ever forget: just because I don’t, doesn’t mean I can’t. And grey is still a color, strictly speaking.
These lines are pretty clear once you understand the previous sections. The author is surprised at the female’s audacity, and warns her again about the risks of their relationship, but ultimitly decides that what ever it is they have is acceptable.
Don’t pine for me, don’t mourn for me, don’t cry for me, don’t speak for me, don’t think for me, don’t wait for me, don’t question me- I take that back, question me frequently. The fractions of this you recognize speak only to your knowledge and logic. Wisdom and truth, beauty and love, death and life are what I seek.
This is the author’s final disclaimer and stipulations. We see that although he shows resolve, he also obviously lacks it, possibly because he has feelings for the girl; feelings that he doesn’t totally understand, yet is judged on anyway. In the end, the author has noble pursuits that do not include deception and seduction. It's important to remember that all of this takes place in the author's mind, which, as we've learned, is not always clear. That's why we can only use our knowledge and logic to figure it out.
In a bubble of bullet proof glass existed a world where evil and deceit ruled the hearts of a strange breed of man. There was a boy made of gold, who cared so much for status and perfection that he survived, not on food, but on affirmations. The golden boy hid crucible tongs up his sleeve and carried an ingot mold in his pocket. There was a free-floating mouth with jagged teeth. The mouth spoke only dramatic words and gossiped endlessly without ever taking a breath. Nothing could stop the mouth, and all of the inhabitants of Bubble Land, except the Jester, loved to kiss the mouth. There was a drunken musician, who never spoke kindly, but sung so sweetly. She was contradictory and would often sing and speak in the very same sentence. The golden boy hated the drunken musician, because she would not sing his praises. There was a spook, who could change herself into any object she wished, but never told anyone. She was snitch and a liar, yet all the players in Bubble Land liked her, because she would make them feel important. The spook was powerful and cunning, and often lavished the players with gifts to win their favor. There was a Jester. The jester always spoke the truth, no matter how harmful or helpful. Many of the players took his truths for jest, because lies were commonplace in Bubble Land. The jester was feared and loved, but cared for neither. There was a little white witch, whose hair glowed so brilliantly that her face was not visible. She loved all things worldly and could only hear and see negative things. The jester liked the little white witch, because she had enchanted his mind into believing she was truthful. The little white witch liked the golden boy, when he wore certain faces that pleased her, which he did quite often, because she would then affirm him. The golden boy liked the spook, because of her constant flattery. The spook liked the jester, because he would tell her everything. The drunken musician liked only herself, and the mouth didn’t care for any of them, because the mouth could only talk without thinking.
***
Muddy Girls
I was visiting my sister one day at the apartment complex where she lived. It was a nice spring day and the hills around the apartment complex were muddy. I was about ten or eleven years old. Some of the kids from the apartment complex were playing outside, and I joined them. We took turns running up one of the muddy hills and then sliding down on our feet. It was fun. I made friends with one of the girls I was playing with. She seemed nice. When the rest of the kids went to the playground, the girl and I stayed behind and continued to play on the hill. We had been playing for ten minutes or so when she fell in the mud and hopelessly soiled her clothes. I helped her up and she began to cry. I asked her if she was okay. “What am I going to do? My mother will be so mad at me,” she said. Before I could say anything, she ran off toward the apartment complex. I returned to my sister’s apartment, where my mother and sister were preparing dinner. There was a knock on the door a few minutes later. I opened the door and there stood the girl, in clean clothes, and her mother. “That’s the boy who pushed me down,” the girl exclaimed. My mother and sister joined me in the doorway. The girl’s mother was angry and swore several times as she explained how I had pushed her daughter into the mud and ruined her clothes. I stood in the background and stared at the girl in disbelief. She looked at me with such realistic conviction and hatred. I then realized why she had lied, and for a fleeting moment I felt the sadness of it all. “I’m sorry,” I said, over the ranting of the girl’s mother. “I’m sorry I pushed you into the mud,” I said to the girl. My mother and sister couldn’t believe I had done such a thing. The topic ruined our dinner, not to mention the next week of my social life. I knew the truth, and for me the truth is all that matters.
***
The Paper Cage
There once was a lion on a chain in the center of town. One day a little girl came to him with her troubles and told him secret things. The lion took kindly to the girl, fore it had been a long time since anyone had spoken to him in such a way and he felt sorry for her. For many days the lion and the girl confided in each other. The little girl loved his attention and affirmations. She tricked him into believing she cared for him so he would continue to love her. The townspeople became suspicious of the lion and the girl. Some of them thought it was inappropriate for such different creatures to have a relationship. As much as the little girl enjoyed the lion’s attention, she valued the opinions of strangers over his, and one day she told the lion that she was not in love with him. Much to her surprise, the lion answered, “I have cared about you, but have never been in love with you.” The little girl was vain and spiteful, and refused to believe that the lion did not love her. “The lion in the center of town loves me,” she told the townspeople. Because the lion was chained, only those closest to him knew the truth. The lion was modest and virtuous in his actions, but soon realized what the little girl had done. No longer did she confide in him. No longer would she tell him her secrets, and one day he roared at her. “Why has this beast roared at me?” asked the little girl in a loud voice. “The lion has roared at me without cause,” she said to anyone who would listen. The townspeople were immoral and pugnacious, and although they knew of the girl’s relationship with the lion, they sided with her. The lion, embarrassed by his actions and angered by the little girl, pulled his stake from the ground and chained himself at the edge of town. Some of the townspeople visited him and told him the girl was still spreading rumors. The lion called to the girl from the outskirts of town and she came to him. “Why have you lied about me?” asked the lion. The little girl patted his mane. “I have not lied,” she said. The lion regretted roaring at the girl, despite what she had done, so he apologized for several days from the edge of town. The little girl was busy repairing her public image, but eventually visited the lion and again reassured him that she still cared for him. Several days passed and the lion became lonely. “Where are you?” he called to the girl. “I have said I am sorry,” he cried. “I don’t understand why you have left me alone.” The little girl never spoke to the lion again, but sent an angry messenger who warned the lion not to bite the girl again or there would be consequences. “I have not bitten anyone,” replied the lion, and although he had done nothing wrong, the lion agreed to pull up his stake again and leave the area forever. He still cared deeply for the little girl and wanted what was best for her. Weeks passed and the lion found a new home where he felt at peace. The little girl was not accustomed to such shivery and therefore perceived the lion’s actions as a scheme. She shared her conspiracy theory with an empty-hearted woman who knew less about love than she, and the two whipped themselves into a paranoid frenzy. “He has tried to bite me on several occasions,” said the little girl. “I always knew he was a biter,” said the empty-hearted woman. Because of the girl’s false claims, the angry messenger hunted down the lion and threatened to kill him. The lion, although modest, was no coward, and roared loudly at the foolish messenger, who then placated the lion with lies of peace, when in fact the girl had already filed a formal complaint with the judge. The judge pulled the lion away from his new home and ordered him to be held in a paper cage in the center of town for one year. Anger welled up in the lion, but he stayed in his cage. “I keep myself on a chain for a reason,” said the lion to the wind. “This paper cage is not what keeps them safe from retaliation.” Eventually the little girl became bored and again falsely accused the lion of biting her. The lion unhooked his chain and bit the little girl. "Why have you bitten me?" asked the girl. "Why not?" answered the lion.
***
Fear The Dragon
There once was a small town surrounded by a forest of birch trees. None of the townspeople had ever gone beyond the birches, fore it was rumored a dragon lived there and would promptly eat anyone caught trespassing on his land. The small town did well for itself: trade was good, people were healthy, and life was peaceful and satisfying.
A young boy was busy splitting wood one day when a crow came and perched atop his wood pile. “Surely you do not believe a dragon lives beyond these woods,” said the crow to the boy, who became a bit startled and stopped his laboring, as it was not a normal occurrence for a crow to speak in such a way. “I believe it as truly as I believe you spoke to me just now,” said the boy. “Well,” said the crow, “then isn’t it possible there is just as good of a chance that the dragon does not exist?” The boy resumed chopping. “I haven’t the time for this quibbling.” There was a short silence, and then the crow spoke again, as he was fond of doing so: “What if I could guide you safely to the outer rim of the forest and prove the dragon to be a myth?” The boy paused for a moment to think. “Simply the absence of the dragon in one spot would prove nothing. Who is to say the dragon would not be at some other place?” The boy tossed two pieces of freshly cut timber on the pile. The crow took flight, but after a bit of angry squawking, settled back on his perch. “Foolish boy, what proof do you have anyhow?” “Such a small creature should not question such great things,” said the boy, “but since you have the persistence of a whining mosquito, I will explain.” The crow swooped down from the wood pile and sat attentively upon his haunches on the chopping block. “Each fall the dragon’s breath scorches the leaves and the forest is stripped of everything green. The crow rolled his eyes. “Is but Mother Nature who does such things, but go on.” The boy continued as though the crow had said nothing, “then, in winter, the dragon can be heard creeping in the forest, snapping and cracking branches as he goes.” “Is but a bitter frost that causes such sounds, foolish child.” The boy raised the ax above his head. “Brave words for a crow on a chopping block.” The crow stood. “But wait! What does the dragon do now during the summer?” The boy thought for a moment. “I don’t know, sleeps I suppose.” The crow spread his wings and shrugged. “Then why not take a walk with me around the outer rim of the forest, and if there is a dragon he will be asleep anyhow.” The boy paced the yard in contemplation. “Alright, I will go with you, but on one condition.” “Yes, yes,” said the crow impatiently. “If we find a sleeping dragon, you must agree to be my pet.” The crow crossed his wings. “I’ve never heard such an absurd proposition, but I agree, on the condition that if we find no dragon, you must be my pet.” The boy chuckled. What would a crow want with a boy?
The two hiked through the forest until they reached the outer rim. Vistas of rolling hills spread out as far as the eye could see. The boy made a mark on one of the trees and the two set accross the hills until they came upon it again. “Well,” said the crow, “it looks as though you shall be my pet.” “I shall be no such thing,” cried the boy, and he ran into the forest. The crow, although upset, came to enjoy the rolling hills and soon made himself at home. Summer passed, and with the return of fall came the dragon, who, upon finding the crow nesting in his territory, became very upset and ate him.
Years passed and the boy became a man. The man retold his account of the outer rim to the townspeople many times and eventually all fear of the dragon left their hearts. “It is but Mother Nature who does such things and causes such sounds,” they came to say. One summer they cleared the birch forest and settled among the rolling hillside. Summer passed, and with the return of fall came the dragon, who, upon finding the townspeople in his territory, became furious, burned their dwellings to the ground, and ate them all except for one. The dragon towered over the cowering man. “Come closer and listen to my words,” he roared. The man trembled in place and dropped to his knees. The dragon lowered his massive head until the heat from his nostrils singed the man's skin. “Travel due west 131 miles as the crow flies and find the forest of maples. Share with the townspeople there what you have seen here. Leave no doubt in their minds that I exist.”
***
The Commuter
“Write about what you know, and you can’t go wrong,” my old teachers would tell me. I’ve gone wrong lots of times, and had I stuck to their golden rule, I would have run out of things to write about by now. But now that I’m 30, I know a few more things, and can return to the old rule for a moment. One of the things I know about now is work. Like most people my age, I’ve spent the last twelve years of my life making other people rich. People I’ve never met: people I don’t want to meet. I don’t intend to shove my résumé down your throat, so don’t get all excited about it. Actually, what I intended to do is share my commute with you.
I don’t get up at the crack of fucking dawn, like the radio jocks imply all day. FM radio was made for nine-to-fivers I guess; FM radio is dead to me anyhow, so what the hell do I care? I start out at noon, and it’s not ‘cause I’m lazy. I happen to work nights. The most I ever hear of the peppy “Lunch Bunch” set is maybe a syllable of a Jolly John used car ad, which, if you’ve ever heard one, you know is more than enough to make you want to kill yourself.
So, like I said, I leave my place at noon. I drive by the old lady with the perpetual yard sale, the house with the barking dog, and sometimes, depending on the weather, the old man who spends all day making love to his vinyl fence, with Windex. Shit, imagine Windexing a fence. I’m morally opposed to vinyl fences. Pretty soon even Tom Sawyer will be Windexing the fence and nobody will remember what paint is.
Every so often the people who own the dirt road I live on pay a bunch of rednecks to come and fill in the potholes with dirt. Last spring, the owners sent a letter claming that the new dirt was “special” and would last longer. Special must mean more expensive, because my lot rent went up by ten bucks a month too. Ten bucks don’t sound like a lot, but that’s 120 bucks a year I could be spending on better stuff than dirt. The special dirt, by the way, didn’t last any longer than the regular dirt, and the potholes were back, bigger than ever, by mid summer. Shocks and struts are two things I could be spending that 120 bucks on.
The road to the main road isn’t bad; it’s all downhill and not much happens there. You’d think I would know the name of the damn street, but I don’t. One day I hit a cat on the hill that goes to the main road. I stopped and looked around for the owner, and all that came of it was practically givin’ an old man a heart attack for no reason when he thought it was his. Turns out, it was nobody’s cat and I ended up leaving it in the woods behind a dumpster. I didn’t know what the hell to do with it. What would you do with it? I’m sure you have some great ideas now, but at the time, you wouldn’t have known either.
Anyway, down at the stop sign, at main road, there’s enough room for two cars to stop side by side: cars turning left across traffic, and cars simply turning right. I turn right. I’ll be damned if every day I don’t get stuck behind some jackass who sits in the middle and waits to turn left. To make things worse, people turning left off the main road sometimes try to pull a Mother Teresa and wave on the person turning left from the stop sign. The only trouble is, they don’t have the authority to say when it’s safe, because cars are rushing past them while they’re waiting to turn. I’ve seen some close calls at that stop sign.
After the stop sign, I drive passed a pharmacy, two gas stations, and a McDonald’s. The line for the drivethru at McDonald’s sometimes spills into the street. You know you’ve got problems if you end up in that line. How fucking stupid is that? - Blocking traffic so you can get a fucking Happy Meal. I don’t eat that garbage at McDonald’s, but I do get a coffee at Dunkin’ Donuts.
Before I turn in to the Dunkin' Donuts parking lot, I count how many cars are in the drivethru. If there’s three or less, I join them, but if there’s any more than that, I go inside. There can be as many as fifteen cars in the drivethru and it never occurs to any of them to go inside. On days like that, I go inside, get my coffee and then drive by the line outside to showoff my coffee. I don’t always win at Dunkin’ Donuts though. It’s a gamble either way. The other day I spent 17 minutes behind some prick in the drivethru who thought it was cool to order a dozen fancy drinks. I swear, some people order the wrong shit on purpose just so they can have something to bitch about. I get the same thing everyday: medium coffee with cream and one sugar.
My next stop is the gas station. Everyone’s bitching about gas these days, but not everyone has the right to. If you’re stupid enough to buy a big truck or SUV, suck it up. Ten years ago, gas was around $1.00 a gallon. Now, it’s $4.00 a gallon. That’s a 400% increase. So, when I’m 40, I plan on paying $16.00 a gallon. I don’t know about you, but my pay certainly hasn’t quadrupled in the past ten years. If I make $8.00 an hour and my car gets 30 miles per gallon, I’m spending $8.00 an hour to drive at 60 mph; I’m spending more to drive my car per hour than I’m making at work per hour, and that doesn’t seem right.
The first thing I see once I’m on the highway is a line of shiny blue State Police cars, sitting in a row in the “authorized vehicle’s only” strip between the lanes. There must be half a dozen of them, waiting like cowards for people traveling north to crest the hill. I push my car to about 100mph for a mile or so after I go by. I see more shit on my ride to work than they’ll ever see sitting there. They could spread out and actually do some good, but that’s not what it’s about. It’s all about money. They steal it from the public so they can buy more shiny blue cars and make more money. Law enforcement is a business, not a service. I’m not on either side though. I don’t like the shitty drivers either, but at least they don’t usually cost me money, except for when they run into me.
I put my car on cruise control, around 75mph, and watch the show. That’s what I call it, The Show: young drivers with loosely connected heads, old drivers with bad depth perception, dick heads with no patients. I watch it play out like a bad physical comedy. I don’t care enough to play their game. I just laugh at them and roll on. They will all get what they deserve; most of them are getting it already and don’t even realize it. I don’t have any control over any of that. I don’t care if they know it or not.
After I get off the highway, I race up through a bunch of lights and usually make it to work on time. Sometimes I have a few minutes to sit the car and shuffle though my mail before I go in. Other times, I button my shirt on the way through the door. It all depends on the commute.
***
Pay at the pump
For the past year or so, I’ve been buying my gas at the only remaining gas station in town which doesn’t require pre-payment or pay at the pump. Now, because of drive-offs, they too have switched to pre-payment or pay at the pump. I was pissed. I took a half hour drive after work to the neighboring town, to the only gas station that trusts people to pay after pumping. For starters, I’m being totally raped by the gas station, oil companies, and everyone else in the world who undeservingly demands my hard-earned money. Almost everything I buy turns out to be a complete piece of shit. I can't be the only one who’s noticing this. And what recourse do I have? None! I’m fucked and that’s it, period. My solution to this is to simply stop being a consumer and only buy things I really need. Anyway, back to the pump. Paying at the pump encourages people to use credit cards. The average American already has over $8,000 in credit card debt. I don’t think we need any more encouragement. Credit cards are being marketed and supported as a necessity, much like your stupid cell phone you have glued to your ear while you almost crash into me while driving that car you owe an outrageous amount of money on- but I digress. Let’s say I use my debit card instead of my credit card, which I do, I don’t want to run my card twice! I’ll have to run it at the pump and then go inside and run it again. I don’t get charged more from my bank or anything like that, but it’s just stupid! Why make my bank statements and checkbook more complicated? Why do I have to be inconvenienced? My other option is to go in and pre pay. I have to walk in, guess how much my car will hold, and either put too little in or end up going back in the store and waiting in line AGAIN to get my change. All because some people are driving off without paying. I can’t say I blame’em. Have you seen the price of gas?! They probably can’t afford it. I can barely afford it! In 1997 gas was around a dollar a gallon. Since then it has tripled. The toll booth where I work used to be 30 cents and now it’s 60. Heating costs are through the roof, houses are practically unattainable for most people, and debt is out of control, individually and globally. Has your pay doubled or tripled lately? Mine certainly hasn’t! We are being suffocated by the very structure we created. The rich continue to get richer and the poor… well ya know. America has only been around for a short time. China has had hiccups that have lasted longer than our entire history to date. If things don’t change now, America will fail. It’s textbook civilization failure. We are Rome. Hundreds of years from now, the entire United States experience could turn out to be just a footnote in time. Some highly intelligent Somali kid will read this in his history book and laugh at our stupidity and arrogance. So what can I do? In the end, all I can do is write things like this, because all gas stations will become pre pay, all items will be marked up, and most Americans don’t care enough to do anything about it and even if they do, they are practically powerless. It’s a fragile existence we’ve dreamed up. I’m sorry to say, The American Dream seems more like the American myth to me. How long should I allow myself to be exploited and abused by a system, a government, and a society that doesn’t care, before I put up some sort of resistance, even if only a futile resistance? We must become proactive if we are to survive.
***
Payday
Usually I wake up at 7am, but today is my day off, so here I am at 9am staring at the ceiling. All of those fools would be settled in to their cubicles by now, pushing paper and processing meaningless crap. God, I hate those people. Then it dawned on me: not only was it my day off, it was payday too.
I rolled out of bed and fired up the desktop while I brushed my teeth. "Almost 30 and aging gracefully," I thought to myself; far from muscular, but showing promise. I can't stand the people at the gym, so I bought myself a BowFlex.
I sat down at the computer and checked my bank account, paid a few bills, and checked my email. Several of my credit cards are maxed out. The fees are twice as much as the minimum payments. How is that legal? Bastards. Oh well, I can just skip a cell payment to make up the difference.
I shut the computer down and flicked on my new plasma TV. I ordered satellite TV, but until it arrived, I was stuck watching the same 100 cable channels. Channel surfing was starting to make my thumb numb when my cell phone chimed to life. My ring tones are always the best; I won my current tone,In Da Club, by 50Cent, from a Pepsi bottle cap. The person had the wrong number and I hung up. Damn people, stop wasting my anytime minutes! I texted my friend and asked him if we were drinking tonight. Last weekend was amazing, not that I can remember most of it, but I got a bunch of sweet pics to post on myspace.
No food in the apartment, so I hopped in my car, a brand new VW Rabbit that my parents cosigned for. My monthly payments are nearly half my income, but I love my car and it came with a great warranty. I called the movie theater on my way to the store and listened to the choices. Nothing good was playing. I stopped at an ATM and withdrew the rest of my paycheck. "Probably enough for a bag," I thought. Some guy fucking cut me off in traffic. I flipped him off and threatened to kill him, but when he pulled over I decided to keep going- fucking moron.
I can't believe the price of gas. I paid at the pump with one of my credit cards and burned a strip of rubber when I left. I got cut off again on the turnpike. It's like people only think about themselves. I tossed my change into the exact-change booth and sped up to the guy and tailgated him for awhile. Dick. Once in town, I bought some snacks and paid at one of the new self checkouts. It was so much faster than waiting for those retards to ring up everything. I bought a few lottery tickets from a vending machine on my way out the door, but I didn't win anything.
I decided to go home to eat lunch and find some good competition on X-box live, or at least some pathetic losers to pick on. I made one more stop before home to get a pack of cigarettes. The clerk checked my ID. I'm obviously over 18. What an asshole. I quickly slid my debit card, punched in my pin, and left without taking my receipt. "Have a nice day?" Fuck you.
Back at home, I fired up the X-box and quickly checked my myspace messages. One of my other friends had already scored some pot, thank God. I don't think I could make it through this weekend without any. I went to youtube and checked my videos. I get hundreds of views and dozens of subscribers everyday. Some loser, Kevin JD Kismet, tried to post a stupid comment on one of my videos the other day and he totally got owned, because I didn't approve his comment. He wrote this long message that I didn't even read. What a loser.
***
Ninja Nightmare
I was in high school, but I was the age I am now, I wasn't young again. I was outside walking around the school building. It was summer time. There was a group of people sitting at a table outside next to the building. My wife (who I actually did go to high school with), my friend from work, and his little sister (17 years old in real life, but was more like 13 in my dream, and I've never met her) sat at the table. They kept teasing me because I couldn't beat some sort of video game. They were saying things like, "You can't figure out how to power-up on the 34th level, what a loser," and stuff like that (I don't even play video games very much). I got really pissed and stormed off, walked around the corner of the building, and started playing a video game. I'd get to a part in the game where I didn't know what to do and I'd go ask them for help, only to get ridiculed again.
That was the first part of the dream. The next part's better, or worse, depending on how you want to look at it.
All of a sudden (classic dream descriptor) I was sitting at a round, orange, lunch table in the middle of the hallway at school. Three other people sat with me. To my left sat a thin Asian man. He was an older man, but obviously not someone to mess with. To his left there was a young Asian woman crouched on her seat. She crouched, completely motionless, holding two katanas crossed in front of her. A Somalian woman in her mid-twenties sat to my right. I was eating Twizzlers. The Somalian woman started to yell angrily in her native tongue at no one in particular. The yelling went on for a while and then out stepped my Home Economics teacher from my freshman year of high school. She started yelling back at the Somalian women, in Somali. The young women got up and went in a room with my old teacher. I continued to eat my Twizzlers.
The Asian man seemed friendly and we talked a little bit. I remarked to the crouching woman with the swords, "Ya know, you don't have to sit like that." Just then, my wife walked up and stood just behind her. Before my wife could say anything, the Asian woman turned quickly and slit my wife's stomach open. Blood began to pour out and she looked shocked. I jumped up on the table and began to violently whip the Asian woman across the face with Twizzlers. The Asian man quietly stated, "That's not a good idea." The Asian woman had a completely flat affect the entire time. She took her two swords and expertly intertwined her blades with my wrists. She paused a moment with my wrists trapped in her blades, and then with one swipe she pulled the swords away, instantly slitting both my wrists down to the bone.
***
Five Steps
There were only five steps left. Had I only taken the time to double check my books or not stopped to talk with the professor, I wouldn't be here. No time for anger I suppose. Anger seems silly now. It all seemed silly now. I had fallen hard and twisted my arm in an unnatural angle. Gun shots continued to ring in the air with violence, further away now with no more clout than a cap-gun. Shock rendered me numb, thankfully. Judging from the intense thrust I'd received, added to my fall, I should be in a considerable amount of pain. I never imagined myself as a gunshot victim wishing for more pain, but life is like that sometimes. My view was less than spectacular, a close-up of cold stone and a chewed piece of gum. "I want to see the sky," I prayed out loud. "Just one more time, I want to see the sky." I aimlessly moved my arm around in a vain attempt to summon help. My arm tired quickly. Blood pooled around my face and a shiver rolled though me. The last drops of adrenaline rushed though my system and darkness followed. I pictured the old stone staircase. I had heard the shots behind me and bolted up the stairs. Five more steps and I probably would have been safe. There were only five steps left.
In my mind Vol. I
You walked into my home wearing a long black coat and bright white smile. With a monkey on my lap and a bag of chips, I didn't know what to say. I improvised. Luckily speling doesn't mater I thought.
"Do evil things," you whispered.
I was stuck in third gear, but then again, if third gear is all you have, I guess you're not really stuck. The sky was an odd shade of green and the children were gone. Should I play dead or run for my life?
"You chose poorly," was all you could say; encroaching. Yes, you heard me right.
Ripping a hole and throwing it all away again, the trees bowed down and the earth shook apprehensively. I wouldn't be afraid of the dark if I were blind. I closed my eyes and peered at the world I'd left behind. Quite the view.
"Where are you taking me?"
Beasts of various statures populated the once desolated landscape. Some wore masks. Some stood firm. Others ran from me. I attempted to read your expression, but was distracted by the spectacle evolving in the distance. Something was approaching. Slowly and steadily it traversed the hills and valleys, disappearing, reemerging, closer and closer. Metronomes couldn't have kept better time.
"This is for you," you spoke sharply. My body ached vehemently. "Understanding is not the most important facet of wisdom. Prove nothing and live better. Do not try to explain what you have seen. They will not believe you. Go now, and take what I have given you."
The way is long and difficult, but in the pain there is joy and righteousness. When and where? Eat it, don't eat it. Kill or be killed. Believe almost nothing and create your own plain. Invitations go unanswered. This is the way it must be.
Years had passed, yet there we stood. Back home again. The monkey bit me and I shoved it from my lap. To this day, the floor bares his mark.
"Someday you will suffer for what you have shown me," I said.
Your smile faded. Fingers to fangs and eyes to pearls, your coat burned bright white. My hand protected my face, but not my heart. Windows rattled in their sashes as you spoke one last time. You knew the words could never be written. I remember every syllable.
Alone, yet never alone, I collapsed to the floor. The smell of countless dead lingered offensively. Again I saw the hills and valleys. Again I witnessed the beasts. Now however, they all stood silently naked in the heated field. The thing that had approached with such ferocity before was only a child now, my child. He greeted me with a smile and I returned the gesture.
***
In My Mind Vol. 2: The Anatomy of Random Writing
Just because they go there doesn’t mean they should. No one ever asked about the taste. What if it was more than palatable? What if it was tasteful? Curiosity and morbid taste full of tired bywords and meaningful rhetoric is not enough here (pointing, always pointing. Pay attention!). Here you will get no answers. Here you will be forever lost among the turbid plumes of a mortal’s threshold for thought and dream. Don’t assume you can unveil what lies beneath. Even if you arrive primed with ten pair and one, you will be too late- will you not? Sanctions are lurking, and yet you trifle on a crusade for things better left unsaid. Follow me for a circuit whilst I show you the worlds within worlds, within words, within worlds, and suffer my affections: In the dark there was a craven crow and in his heart there was a box and in this box there was a key to a house made of what? That’s the question I ask myself everyday. Quite trite I always say. What’s the diffidence? Who would sacrifice themselves to be lost? Usually such tasks are left to fate, or stupidity, if there is a difference. Don’t ever forget: just because I don’t, doesn’t mean I can’t. And grey is still a color, strictly speaking. Don’t pine for me, don’t mourn for me, don’t cry for me, don’t speak for me, don’t think for me, don’t wait for me, don’t question me- I take that back, question me frequently. The fractions of this you recognize speak only to your knowledge and logic. Wisdom and truth, beauty and love, death and life are what I seek.
The Anatomy of Random Writing
I will now attempt to diagram some random writing and explain the meaning line by line.
In My Mind Vol. 2
Just because they go there doesn’t mean they should.
“They” referrers to a set of people, two or more, who engage in an activity, either literally or metaphorically. They could be physically going somewhere, or going there in slang terms, which would mean they were altering social conditions, perhaps undesirably. “Doesn’t mean they should,” equates to shouldn’t, which is a subjective word used to judge right from wrong. In this case, someone is judging the aforementioned set of people. We don’t know who they are, where they are going, or who is judging them at this point. Are they going to McDonalds and you, the reader, think fast food is gross? Or, are they breaking informal social constructs that offend social norms, and society as a whole is judging them? Or, are they being judged by a higher power?
No one ever asked about the taste. What if it was more than palatable? What if it was tasteful?
The next few sentences are a play on words and shed light on the first sentence. Unlike the first sentence, these sentences have an actual author-dictated meaning. The taste the author is alluding to is that of the fruit from The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Knowing this, it can then be assumed that they are a man and a woman, not a group of people, and what they are doing is probably not a trip to McDonalds. But what is it they are doing? Palatable means food that tastes good, but it also means palatable ideas: acceptable or agreeable to the mind or feelings. The word "tasteful" adds the idea that whatever it is they are doing might possibly be in good taste as well.
Curiosity and morbid taste full of tired bywords and meaningful rhetoric is not enough here (pointing, always pointing. Pay attention!).
Where is here? Here is in the mind of the author, hence the title. Again the author uses the word “taste,” only this time in a negative context, possibly hinting at an outsider’s psychologically unhealthy curiosity. To whom this sentence is addressed is unclear, but it can be assumed it is either the female mentioned above, or society in general who sits in judgment of them, or both. A byword is a proverbial phrase, like saying, “Man’s best friend,” instead of, “Dog”. It also means an object of notoriety or interest; the object in this case being the author’s mind. The phrase “meaningful rhetoric” as an oxymoron is intended for the judgmental public; however, it also has a positive translation which is intended for the female. The parenthesized words, “pointing, always pointing,” are for the public, and the short sentence, “Pay attention!” is for the possibly distracted female. The author is saying to the girl that his mind is a complicated place. He is also warning the public that their negative opinion of his relationship with the female is probably incorrect.
Here you will get no answers. Here you will be forever lost among the turbid plumes of a mortal’s threshold for thought and dream. Don’t assume you can unveil what lies beneath.
Again, here means the authors mind, where there are no answers. Answers to what? I don’t know, hence, no answers. A mind with no answers is probably full of questions, which could cause someone to become lost. The atmosphere of the author’s mind is seemingly unstable and not completely coherent. He warns her that she will probably become another set of questions rather than the answer to anything. Turbid means cloudy, murky, or muddy; it’s what happens when sediments are stirred up, which is possible, metaphorically, if she starts poking around at the, “threshold for thought and dream”. What ever it is he is truly hiding, she will probably never find it, especially since he most likely doesn’t even know what it is to begin with.
Even if you arrive primed with ten pair and one, you will be too late- will you not? Sanctions are lurking, and yet you trifle on a crusade for things better left unsaid.
Primed means to be ready and it also means to be of high quality. Ten pair and one would equal 21, which is the age of the girl, who, although in the prime of life, is too late. Too late for what? Here we get the idea that the relationship between the author and the girl could have been more had the timing been right, but apparently he has moved on, is much older, or is committed to another woman, which would explain the previous judgments by society. Sanctions can be permissions or punishments depending on the context. In this context they could be both. The author could be saying that certain permissions will be granted, but that these permissions may lead to negative consequences.
Follow me for a circuit whilst I show you the worlds within worlds, within words, within worlds, and suffer my affections: In the dark there was a craven crow and in his heart there was a box and in this box there was a key to a house made of what? That’s the question I ask myself everyday. Quite trite I always say. What’s the diffidence?
Despite all of his ambivalence, the author decides to take the girl for a spin. The words within worlds are what make up his reality. He knows she will not understand, but shows her anyway with a riddle. After the riddle, for which he gives no answer, because, again, there are none, he then seems to fall apart into word play that suggests he may not be as interesting or as confident as he seems.
Who would sacrifice themselves to be lost? Usually such tasks are left to fate, or stupidity, if there is a difference. Don’t ever forget: just because I don’t, doesn’t mean I can’t. And grey is still a color, strictly speaking.
These lines are pretty clear once you understand the previous sections. The author is surprised at the female’s audacity, and warns her again about the risks of their relationship, but ultimitly decides that what ever it is they have is acceptable.
Don’t pine for me, don’t mourn for me, don’t cry for me, don’t speak for me, don’t think for me, don’t wait for me, don’t question me- I take that back, question me frequently. The fractions of this you recognize speak only to your knowledge and logic. Wisdom and truth, beauty and love, death and life are what I seek.
This is the author’s final disclaimer and stipulations. We see that although he shows resolve, he also obviously lacks it, possibly because he has feelings for the girl; feelings that he doesn’t totally understand, yet is judged on anyway. In the end, the author has noble pursuits that do not include deception and seduction. It's important to remember that all of this takes place in the author's mind, which, as we've learned, is not always clear. That's why we can only use our knowledge and logic to figure it out.
Old Poems
Grooves
The scent of old cassette tapes moves me
My world now spun around you
Children are mindful of what we have forgotten
Teach us how to sing
See how my heart moves
Watch how I cry
Lovely are her feet in the wind from a midnight ride
Dusk of willow smile upon us and hold my hand so tight
Listen to the peepers’ verses
What joy we have found tonight
***
Poem IOU (For Kim)
Black widow lover
Loved a broken mother
Blew my cover
Reap what you sow I suppose
And the story goes
Sharp dresser
Good guesser
Here’s a message you can decipher
Black pepper and sneezes, like sleaze is the reason not to believe the lies of a lifer, New Zealand
Could never catch that good vibe you were feelin’
Chose the wrong friends and got burned at both ends
Now I’m working on my own perplexed expressions
I remember your kindness
The only positive impression I’m left with
***
untitled
When I am but a photograph
My thoughts will go strong.
When my stone is worn clean
My wake will keep on.
-Caoimhin JD Kismet-
***
Rap on a Big Apple Napkin
Beauty, the beast, and the karma police
I’ve been jailed and nailed
Burned and impaled
I’ve been honored and hated
Misunderstood-miscalculated
A thief, a liar, a con and a felon
A fool, a friend, a father, and a husband
Been a geek and a freak, and a punk rocker
Got a rap sheet for stealing, concealing weapons, and stalking
But shit, here I am laughin’ and mockin’
Fuck you, I still like to skip when I’m walkin’
***
Some People
Some people I know have lost their lovers.
I hold mine gently.
Some people I know are sick and hurting.
I’m still running.
Some people I know are slaves to money.
My things don’t own me.
Some people I know have not found peace.
I found God and God provides.
Some people I know have hurt me.
I forgive them.
Some people I know have died.
I’m still living.
***
A Liar Inbreeds Contagious Ignorance & Anger
Recovering from the overreaction of the century
Satan hath successfully tempted me
A little bit of shit mixed with bad luck
Your parents really fucked you up
Call it even, call it black
Stake your claim and call my name
Can you stay sane? I doubt it
Time will pay you back
Storming like a train though a forest of pine
Can’t take back my apologies you used to abuse me
Can’t rewind
In the light she would burn
Jagging on a landmine
Someday you’ll have your turn
Cower in dark the corners of you minds
Plenty of empty spaces in your hearts to find
Did she tell you how she likes it from behind?I doubt it
Today I let you and yours go
Into the wind your memories blow
Only my scars to show
And everybody knows
Everybody knows
***
Subtle Tremors (For Brandon)
Fair winds to all who tread so well upon the waves of gold
Take heed tonight as storms blow
Enjoy your terminal illness of mortality
Light your matches and watch them glow so brightly
Walk kindly as you suffer with the burdens you must tow
Alone we are, yet still together on one short journey
Across the starlit wonder I mourn sweet things unknown
Be cautious of those who wish you harm
Ring the bells, count the days, and light your torches
Take care. Sleep well. Goodnight.
***
Age Appropriate
New white hairs atop my head
Likely from perfunctory dread
One day, they were just there
The new shadows on my face
Did not come from any place
One day, they were just there
New pains all throughout
Age and stress mixed all about
One day, they were just there
Cannot find the cause or reason
Aging by the season are the seasoned, I suppose
From head to toe, then row by row
***
5000 Weeks
Don’t wait until it’s too late to say you’re sorry.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to see the light.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to smile.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to fight.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to say I love you.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to forgive.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to relax.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to live.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to say you’re sorry.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to say goodbye.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to be happy.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to cry.
***
With a Friend (For Anjela)
Footsteps in my chest;
Where will they end?
Take me away again and again;
My only friend;
What haven’t
we done?
Betrayal, mistakes, and independence: Overcome, undone, and won.
Virginity to synergy;
The journey of two lovers.
A hero of destiny evolved;
From the days of dirt I found you waiting and flaws resolved.
Escaped death and found life behind your eyes;
Cursed with a complex mind, the last of my kind;
Suffered with me all these years;
Forever I’ll ask why;
Indestructible love.
Envy our wake.
Laughing as the world quakes.
Distractions and reactions pass away;
At the end of the day to the end of days;
Footsteps in my chest;
I know where they end, they end with you.
***
Stagnant
People are who they are.
Things never change.
Things are what they are.
And people stay the same.
People and things.
Clouds and shoestrings.
Sun up and sun down.
The world spins around.
Tick tock of the clock.
Shindigs and sock hops.
It never stops.
The stupidity of it all looping lacks slumber.
How far could I run without fallingI wonder.
If the universe revolves around your son;
Reach out and touch the planets for fun.
Self centered, conceited, yet just what I needed;
Tainted and sainted;
Amazing how it all fits what I painted;
A lifetime becomes no time in no time;
But people are who they are.
Things never change.
Things are what they are.
And people stay the same.
***
A Scathing Review
Cut the flesh, deep and jagged. Anger rushing in place of blood- in pace with love. Slash the skin, macabre and soothing tasks in one. Life forces, veins coursing with lust again; love pretend. Wrap your thoughts around my sickness and breathe it in again. Shutter with primal needs. Gruesome movements of a butcher’s cleaver, each ounce turns crimson on the blade- love made.
Does this feel real to you?
Superficial cuts of a toying girl hold not a candle to the grave I spade on the day I met you, the day I fucked you. Does this scratch the glass that suffocates us? Lick your wounds as I once licked you. Shallow are the waters of a lust drunk whore. One last kiss for star-crossed lovers. You play the Montague, I’ll be the Capulet. Don’t say things you can’t regret. Stitch it up or give it up, but never forget I love you.
***
The Knowledge of Life and Death
I fear death when I ignore death
I ignore death when I fear death
When I am living, death reminds me
When I am dead, life finds me
To embrace that which I cannot escape
Or escape (for a time) what I cannot embrace
For a time, for a time, for a time
A trick with a trapdoor
Embracing seems pragmatic
To fear a thing I cannot change seems foolish
Play the game. Run the maze. Make the best of it
How can I stop waiting to stop wanting?
How can I stop wanting to stop waiting?
The gnashing of teeth ripple through my mind
Solutions to problems I cannot define
Flashes and glimpses
Images and pictures
Ideas and thoughts
Hopes and wishes
Life and, without question, death
***
Ripcord (For Shannon)
Pull the string and watch her sing;
She only says one damn thing.
Cry and cry my pull string doll.
Says she’s already heard it all.
Pulled the string a dozen times;
And a dozen times the same old rhymes.
Lie and lie my pull string doll.
Says she’s already seen it all.
Frayed the line one-thousand times;
And still she doesn’t seem to mind.
Sigh and sigh my pull string doll.
Says she already knows it all.
Pulled the cord and snapped the string;
Her last words, the same old thing.
And still her blue eyes sing: Please love me again.
***
Anachronism
Time does not pass
We only pass
Who is to say what is slow, what is fast?
My time is rushing, always
A broken hourglass
Some days so fast I am dead before dawn
Some days so quickly the universe has gone
For you it is fluid; a beginning with an end.
Today I was eighty, twelve, and one-hundred-and-ten
I have no beginning and live without death
The shiver you dance with on very dark days
Only a child who plays on a wave
Every moment my heart breaks
I feel it inside.
I run and fight, but I never hide
My perception would kill you if you felt it from the inside.
***
Assassination Horizon
My love for the states is flagging
My respect for the flag is lagging
Nationalism and Patriotism became a game show
And now I must surrender to the truth that haunts us
Freedom is over.
I miss the neutron bomb and the terrorist
When did the national anthem become the twist?
Prepare to sing a bitter swan song
They took nothing from us.
America raped herself.
We were wrong.
Catch phrases, glamour, bright lights, and more lies cannot save us.
No longer the pretender, I become the descender
I respect things my children will not remember
Once upon a time there was a sperm whale and a whore…
***
Vantage
There are things you do not see, because you are not me
From sea to shinning sea to the Sea of Galilee
From the joy of emotions to the field of commotions
To the depth of crushing sin, secret worlds beyond your oceans
Blinded by false power, guilted by transgression
There is an angel, a beast, and grief beyond conception
Lies upon lies, I am but a channel
Dismantled by maggots and flies
Not knowing what the scrolls hold
Unworthy are the hearts and hands of man.
Someday you will see what I see.
You will be me.
You will stand where I now stand.
***
Chartered
The bus station bustles, what else can it do?
Riders swagger here and there
Looking at the clocks
Never ending anywhere
Full of thoughtful thought
Alone they stand
Tickets in hand
Thinking things that ought not be sought.
Feeling fine, and only fine
Only one bus runs on time
Every port and every stop
From hospital to salem’s lot
Save the reaper, the seeker, and the gate keeper.
***
Objective Confessions
Ten black cauldrons burned white hot for ten cold years.
In this time I thought of you tenfold the price of one.
Your forbidden beauty and dark lust now stokes the fire.
I always knew you would come.
In your freedom lies a dungeon, in this lies my will.
I must deny you, knowing yours is only matchstick love.
I to you, but ten seconds of time between vast pursuits and destiny unabridged.
Yours is a miserable distraction to remain unadulterated.
And still I hold your memory with adoration for things that cannot be won.
***
What It Said
In the morning it whispers to me
“You will never wake again”
At the breakfast table it chatters
“Today is all you have”
All day long it jeers
“This is it”
While I put my kids to bed it mumbles
“This is your last kiss”
As I fall asleep it taunts me
“The sun has set forever”
But a funny thing happened today
I awoke and did it all again
***
Condescending Bitch (For Pam)
Condescending bitch, how miserable you are.
I can see it in your eyes, even from afar.
Everything you do chills my simple heart.
Your breath reeks of rotting death. Your words: poison darts.
Your soul (if you have one) lusts for power strong.
But that’s my opinion. As you know that’s always wrong.
Shall I pause on some errors? Since I’m on it anyhow? Remember your subjects?
The one’s who grovel, beg, and bow?
Also do they mock you, forsake your grim decree.
Nothing you have ever done means a thing you see.
You think you are in charge of everything you touch.
Let me be the one to tell you: Eh, not so much.
Your cloak is long and flowing- yes this is true.
But the only one who really cares is Y.O.U.
Sincerely,You Know Who
P.S.Fuck You
***
The Other Way
Spider legs and Easter Eggs
Getting there and getting laid
Before and to the end associate with impetuous
To find the prize at the end of a leap year baby’s tears
Don’t set me up to drop me down the deep dark mental hole
I will not go
No. Please don’t
Ground eaters lick the hooves of swollen goats
Bloated in the summer light
Feed on me tonight
If the stars align
Live your life differently, on a better day
I beg of you- please go the other way
***
untitled
My heart sings verses to those behind me
and to all of those I have said goodbye to
we will wait for only moments
before we play and laugh again
smile as you struggle
enjoy not knowing death
there is truth here
time is nothing
go now
and live
***
Burdens
My wings are black and invisible
Heavy and tattered they hang
Many things cannot be seen
I feel them just the same
One day my wings will be washed clean
Sun will warm my face
I will spread them with all my strength
And collapse in your embrace
***
Crazy pervert man
Crazy pervert man sleeps
in his mind darkness creeps
he wants to touch you
feel your skin
rub and slide and grab and sin
fraternize to frotteurize
see it in his empty eyes
crazy pervert man sleeps
in his mind darkness creeps
he wants to show you
share a scene
just one secret
so unclean
Be aware
Be alert
in his head lies only dirt
infertile
defiled
dark and dead
***
Bark and Bone
Silent sentinels stood before metunnels of bark and bone
too old to be forgotten
and still I stand alone
no divergent path to learn from
crackle from a lover’s tread
landscapes move with the wind
walk no longer among the dead
and fall- it is I who stand before them
***
What shall I do this spring and summer?
What shall I do this spring and summer?
Sit around and watch TV?
No, I do not think this pleases me.
what then will I ever find to pass the time- ah yes!
books and beaches, bikes and sun: these are things of summers won
school seems such a timely choice
(time is fickle and insincere and learning can become austere)
a choice presents
a choice is made
poor and dumb I will spend my days
while you work I will play
***
Rain Waiter
The truck, red;
Raindrops trickle with reflections:Ghosts drops of shinny blood.
Did he know when he bought the truck,It would streak my window red?
I looked back and it was gone.
***
October Grass
Breath of winter visits you by night;
Gone are the days of play;
And still I cut the October grass;
The winds of change toss branches;
Leaves perform a splendid death;
And still I cut the October grass;
Painfully brittle;
Defiantly green;
Cold and beautiful;
And still I cut the October grass;
Cruel is your fate this day;
Have faith!
Your Redemption is assured by the rains of spring.
***
Freezerburns
I stepped down the hall and found out why my friends all fell with thunderous sounds that still taste bad inside my mouth
can you find my bro – ken heart and mend it blind with dark on dark?
there is no cause
affect blisters in the shining… blinding, sun above… above… above!
kill this now before it grows out of control and finds you where the cold wind throws the shroud from frozen souls
I stand, partly holding my breath
from my hands fall the maps of love and hate
shoestrings bind this world- if not for love of a beautiful girl
I crawl among the for – eign soil and find… and find… and find… her… wait – ing
Wait – ing!… I found her wadd – ing…wadding among the dead
(whispered)push the truth behind green eyes until they all are blind
kill this now before it grows out of control and finds you where the cold wind throws the shroud from frozen souls
I – fall – on – locks!!
count the random grains
ask you, I may, if he found out how to make a key
what if I can’t say please?
forgiven lust of troubled minds knock together
can you hear their chimes?… this – time!… Can? You? Hear? Me?!
kill this now before it grows out of control and finds you where the cold wind throws the-shroud-from-frozen-souls.
The scent of old cassette tapes moves me
My world now spun around you
Children are mindful of what we have forgotten
Teach us how to sing
See how my heart moves
Watch how I cry
Lovely are her feet in the wind from a midnight ride
Dusk of willow smile upon us and hold my hand so tight
Listen to the peepers’ verses
What joy we have found tonight
***
Poem IOU (For Kim)
Black widow lover
Loved a broken mother
Blew my cover
Reap what you sow I suppose
And the story goes
Sharp dresser
Good guesser
Here’s a message you can decipher
Black pepper and sneezes, like sleaze is the reason not to believe the lies of a lifer, New Zealand
Could never catch that good vibe you were feelin’
Chose the wrong friends and got burned at both ends
Now I’m working on my own perplexed expressions
I remember your kindness
The only positive impression I’m left with
***
untitled
When I am but a photograph
My thoughts will go strong.
When my stone is worn clean
My wake will keep on.
-Caoimhin JD Kismet-
***
Rap on a Big Apple Napkin
Beauty, the beast, and the karma police
I’ve been jailed and nailed
Burned and impaled
I’ve been honored and hated
Misunderstood-miscalculated
A thief, a liar, a con and a felon
A fool, a friend, a father, and a husband
Been a geek and a freak, and a punk rocker
Got a rap sheet for stealing, concealing weapons, and stalking
But shit, here I am laughin’ and mockin’
Fuck you, I still like to skip when I’m walkin’
***
Some People
Some people I know have lost their lovers.
I hold mine gently.
Some people I know are sick and hurting.
I’m still running.
Some people I know are slaves to money.
My things don’t own me.
Some people I know have not found peace.
I found God and God provides.
Some people I know have hurt me.
I forgive them.
Some people I know have died.
I’m still living.
***
A Liar Inbreeds Contagious Ignorance & Anger
Recovering from the overreaction of the century
Satan hath successfully tempted me
A little bit of shit mixed with bad luck
Your parents really fucked you up
Call it even, call it black
Stake your claim and call my name
Can you stay sane? I doubt it
Time will pay you back
Storming like a train though a forest of pine
Can’t take back my apologies you used to abuse me
Can’t rewind
In the light she would burn
Jagging on a landmine
Someday you’ll have your turn
Cower in dark the corners of you minds
Plenty of empty spaces in your hearts to find
Did she tell you how she likes it from behind?I doubt it
Today I let you and yours go
Into the wind your memories blow
Only my scars to show
And everybody knows
Everybody knows
***
Subtle Tremors (For Brandon)
Fair winds to all who tread so well upon the waves of gold
Take heed tonight as storms blow
Enjoy your terminal illness of mortality
Light your matches and watch them glow so brightly
Walk kindly as you suffer with the burdens you must tow
Alone we are, yet still together on one short journey
Across the starlit wonder I mourn sweet things unknown
Be cautious of those who wish you harm
Ring the bells, count the days, and light your torches
Take care. Sleep well. Goodnight.
***
Age Appropriate
New white hairs atop my head
Likely from perfunctory dread
One day, they were just there
The new shadows on my face
Did not come from any place
One day, they were just there
New pains all throughout
Age and stress mixed all about
One day, they were just there
Cannot find the cause or reason
Aging by the season are the seasoned, I suppose
From head to toe, then row by row
***
5000 Weeks
Don’t wait until it’s too late to say you’re sorry.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to see the light.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to smile.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to fight.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to say I love you.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to forgive.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to relax.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to live.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to say you’re sorry.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to say goodbye.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to be happy.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to cry.
***
With a Friend (For Anjela)
Footsteps in my chest;
Where will they end?
Take me away again and again;
My only friend;
What haven’t
we done?Betrayal, mistakes, and independence: Overcome, undone, and won.
Virginity to synergy;
The journey of two lovers.
A hero of destiny evolved;
From the days of dirt I found you waiting and flaws resolved.
Escaped death and found life behind your eyes;
Cursed with a complex mind, the last of my kind;
Suffered with me all these years;
Forever I’ll ask why;
Indestructible love.
Envy our wake.
Laughing as the world quakes.
Distractions and reactions pass away;
At the end of the day to the end of days;
Footsteps in my chest;
I know where they end, they end with you.
***
Stagnant
People are who they are.
Things never change.
Things are what they are.
And people stay the same.
People and things.
Clouds and shoestrings.
Sun up and sun down.
The world spins around.
Tick tock of the clock.
Shindigs and sock hops.
It never stops.
The stupidity of it all looping lacks slumber.
How far could I run without fallingI wonder.
If the universe revolves around your son;
Reach out and touch the planets for fun.
Self centered, conceited, yet just what I needed;
Tainted and sainted;
Amazing how it all fits what I painted;
A lifetime becomes no time in no time;
But people are who they are.
Things never change.
Things are what they are.
And people stay the same.
***
A Scathing Review
Cut the flesh, deep and jagged. Anger rushing in place of blood- in pace with love. Slash the skin, macabre and soothing tasks in one. Life forces, veins coursing with lust again; love pretend. Wrap your thoughts around my sickness and breathe it in again. Shutter with primal needs. Gruesome movements of a butcher’s cleaver, each ounce turns crimson on the blade- love made.
Does this feel real to you?
Superficial cuts of a toying girl hold not a candle to the grave I spade on the day I met you, the day I fucked you. Does this scratch the glass that suffocates us? Lick your wounds as I once licked you. Shallow are the waters of a lust drunk whore. One last kiss for star-crossed lovers. You play the Montague, I’ll be the Capulet. Don’t say things you can’t regret. Stitch it up or give it up, but never forget I love you.
***
The Knowledge of Life and Death
I fear death when I ignore death
I ignore death when I fear death
When I am living, death reminds me
When I am dead, life finds me
To embrace that which I cannot escape
Or escape (for a time) what I cannot embrace
For a time, for a time, for a time
A trick with a trapdoor
Embracing seems pragmatic
To fear a thing I cannot change seems foolish
Play the game. Run the maze. Make the best of it
How can I stop waiting to stop wanting?
How can I stop wanting to stop waiting?
The gnashing of teeth ripple through my mind
Solutions to problems I cannot define
Flashes and glimpses
Images and pictures
Ideas and thoughts
Hopes and wishes
Life and, without question, death
***
Ripcord (For Shannon)
Pull the string and watch her sing;
She only says one damn thing.
Cry and cry my pull string doll.
Says she’s already heard it all.
Pulled the string a dozen times;
And a dozen times the same old rhymes.
Lie and lie my pull string doll.
Says she’s already seen it all.
Frayed the line one-thousand times;
And still she doesn’t seem to mind.
Sigh and sigh my pull string doll.
Says she already knows it all.
Pulled the cord and snapped the string;
Her last words, the same old thing.
And still her blue eyes sing: Please love me again.
***
Anachronism
Time does not pass
We only pass
Who is to say what is slow, what is fast?
My time is rushing, always
A broken hourglass
Some days so fast I am dead before dawn
Some days so quickly the universe has gone
For you it is fluid; a beginning with an end.
Today I was eighty, twelve, and one-hundred-and-ten
I have no beginning and live without death
The shiver you dance with on very dark days
Only a child who plays on a wave
Every moment my heart breaks
I feel it inside.
I run and fight, but I never hide
My perception would kill you if you felt it from the inside.
***
Assassination Horizon
My love for the states is flagging
My respect for the flag is lagging
Nationalism and Patriotism became a game show
And now I must surrender to the truth that haunts us
Freedom is over.
I miss the neutron bomb and the terrorist
When did the national anthem become the twist?
Prepare to sing a bitter swan song
They took nothing from us.
America raped herself.
We were wrong.
Catch phrases, glamour, bright lights, and more lies cannot save us.
No longer the pretender, I become the descender
I respect things my children will not remember
Once upon a time there was a sperm whale and a whore…
***
Vantage
There are things you do not see, because you are not me
From sea to shinning sea to the Sea of Galilee
From the joy of emotions to the field of commotions
To the depth of crushing sin, secret worlds beyond your oceans
Blinded by false power, guilted by transgression
There is an angel, a beast, and grief beyond conception
Lies upon lies, I am but a channel
Dismantled by maggots and flies
Not knowing what the scrolls hold
Unworthy are the hearts and hands of man.
Someday you will see what I see.
You will be me.
You will stand where I now stand.
***
Chartered
The bus station bustles, what else can it do?
Riders swagger here and there
Looking at the clocks
Never ending anywhere
Full of thoughtful thought
Alone they stand
Tickets in hand
Thinking things that ought not be sought.
Feeling fine, and only fine
Only one bus runs on time
Every port and every stop
From hospital to salem’s lot
Save the reaper, the seeker, and the gate keeper.
***
Objective Confessions
Ten black cauldrons burned white hot for ten cold years.
In this time I thought of you tenfold the price of one.
Your forbidden beauty and dark lust now stokes the fire.
I always knew you would come.
In your freedom lies a dungeon, in this lies my will.
I must deny you, knowing yours is only matchstick love.
I to you, but ten seconds of time between vast pursuits and destiny unabridged.
Yours is a miserable distraction to remain unadulterated.
And still I hold your memory with adoration for things that cannot be won.
***
What It Said
In the morning it whispers to me
“You will never wake again”
At the breakfast table it chatters
“Today is all you have”
All day long it jeers
“This is it”
While I put my kids to bed it mumbles
“This is your last kiss”
As I fall asleep it taunts me
“The sun has set forever”
But a funny thing happened today
I awoke and did it all again
***
Condescending Bitch (For Pam)
Condescending bitch, how miserable you are.
I can see it in your eyes, even from afar.
Everything you do chills my simple heart.
Your breath reeks of rotting death. Your words: poison darts.
Your soul (if you have one) lusts for power strong.
But that’s my opinion. As you know that’s always wrong.
Shall I pause on some errors? Since I’m on it anyhow? Remember your subjects?
The one’s who grovel, beg, and bow?
Also do they mock you, forsake your grim decree.
Nothing you have ever done means a thing you see.
You think you are in charge of everything you touch.
Let me be the one to tell you: Eh, not so much.
Your cloak is long and flowing- yes this is true.
But the only one who really cares is Y.O.U.
Sincerely,You Know Who
P.S.Fuck You
***
The Other Way
Spider legs and Easter Eggs
Getting there and getting laid
Before and to the end associate with impetuous
To find the prize at the end of a leap year baby’s tears
Don’t set me up to drop me down the deep dark mental hole
I will not go
No. Please don’t
Ground eaters lick the hooves of swollen goats
Bloated in the summer light
Feed on me tonight
If the stars align
Live your life differently, on a better day
I beg of you- please go the other way
***
untitled
My heart sings verses to those behind me
and to all of those I have said goodbye to
we will wait for only moments
before we play and laugh again
smile as you struggle
enjoy not knowing death
there is truth here
time is nothing
go now
and live
***
Burdens
My wings are black and invisible
Heavy and tattered they hang
Many things cannot be seen
I feel them just the same
One day my wings will be washed clean
Sun will warm my face
I will spread them with all my strength
And collapse in your embrace
***
Crazy pervert man
Crazy pervert man sleeps
in his mind darkness creeps
he wants to touch you
feel your skin
rub and slide and grab and sin
fraternize to frotteurize
see it in his empty eyes
crazy pervert man sleeps
in his mind darkness creeps
he wants to show you
share a scene
just one secret
so unclean
Be aware
Be alert
in his head lies only dirt
infertile
defiled
dark and dead
***
Bark and Bone
Silent sentinels stood before metunnels of bark and bone
too old to be forgotten
and still I stand alone
no divergent path to learn from
crackle from a lover’s tread
landscapes move with the wind
walk no longer among the dead
and fall- it is I who stand before them
***
What shall I do this spring and summer?
What shall I do this spring and summer?
Sit around and watch TV?
No, I do not think this pleases me.
what then will I ever find to pass the time- ah yes!
books and beaches, bikes and sun: these are things of summers won
school seems such a timely choice
(time is fickle and insincere and learning can become austere)
a choice presents
a choice is made
poor and dumb I will spend my days
while you work I will play
***
Rain Waiter
The truck, red;
Raindrops trickle with reflections:Ghosts drops of shinny blood.
Did he know when he bought the truck,It would streak my window red?
I looked back and it was gone.
***
October Grass
Breath of winter visits you by night;
Gone are the days of play;
And still I cut the October grass;
The winds of change toss branches;
Leaves perform a splendid death;
And still I cut the October grass;
Painfully brittle;
Defiantly green;
Cold and beautiful;
And still I cut the October grass;
Cruel is your fate this day;
Have faith!
Your Redemption is assured by the rains of spring.
***
Freezerburns
I stepped down the hall and found out why my friends all fell with thunderous sounds that still taste bad inside my mouth
can you find my bro – ken heart and mend it blind with dark on dark?
there is no cause
affect blisters in the shining… blinding, sun above… above… above!
kill this now before it grows out of control and finds you where the cold wind throws the shroud from frozen souls
I stand, partly holding my breath
from my hands fall the maps of love and hate
shoestrings bind this world- if not for love of a beautiful girl
I crawl among the for – eign soil and find… and find… and find… her… wait – ing
Wait – ing!… I found her wadd – ing…wadding among the dead
(whispered)push the truth behind green eyes until they all are blind
kill this now before it grows out of control and finds you where the cold wind throws the shroud from frozen souls
I – fall – on – locks!!
count the random grains
ask you, I may, if he found out how to make a key
what if I can’t say please?
forgiven lust of troubled minds knock together
can you hear their chimes?… this – time!… Can? You? Hear? Me?!
kill this now before it grows out of control and finds you where the cold wind throws the-shroud-from-frozen-souls.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Blog Archive