| poppyseed evening |
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| 11:39pm 05/02/2006 |
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mood:  creatively frenzied music: trippy shit from upstairs
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cold and shivering
on this new and discovered
poppyseed evening:
a friend reborn and though
not much, it's a crush
quiet and true creativity drips
from the sinews and jumps,
leaps out the fingers and
eyes and least of all
the mouth
we are nothing alike
but have nothing to lose
so the cycle spins and
the burning scotch creeps
down the throat
an excitement is beginning
on this new and discovered
poppyseed evening |
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Read 3 - Post |
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| a ghetto bed and wetting scene |
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| 09:55pm 17/01/2006 |
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mood:  depressive music: nothing
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had a dream that i got fired.
maybe i'm mellowing, but it weren't
no big deal, especially in relation to
the vacuous nightmare that followed.
shots rang randomly through walls
a ghetto bed and wetting scene,
truly ghastly and intense were
these monsters. an abhorrent
apparition to say the least.
i woke up, still employed,
in the suburbs. |
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Post |
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| grey has made its presence felt |
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| 10:26pm 11/01/2006 |
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mood:  awake music: Schubert (baby-going-to-sleep-music)
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the world was once stark black
and white but now
grey has made its presence felt.
a ripple effect,
breathlessly brilliant and
brilliantly tasteless,
sweeping through peak and tundra
just reaching climax.
grey-eyed, confusion dances
behind the weary pupils of a young
mother - heavily burdened but swiftly
relaxed as pegasus memories and futuries
flood her senses.
school supplies are piled amongst dirty
clothes and shoes. the room, she is
dark. the contrasts of such subjects
bleed together so deftly in
the dim and mellow lack of light.
the world was once stark black
and white but now
grey has made its presence felt. |
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Post |
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| rock box |
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| 01:42am 09/01/2006 |
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mood:  rock boxin music: BoonDocks
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it was my creation
so i don't gotta listen
to all your whinin
and moanin and pissin
i'm in my rock box
ROCK BOX
i love rye bread and A-Dog
and this one guy named N8
but even from them there's
an occassional break
when i'm in my rock box
ROCK BOX
what i'm tryin to say
though lacking in tact
izzat i don't like to listen
cause i think i'm all that
i got a rock box
ROCK BOX
-dedicated to ryan, adrian, nate, and maybe eric because they were the first rock box witnesses- |
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Read 3 - Post |
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| tuesday night |
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| 11:02pm 27/12/2005 |
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mood:  ragged music: adult swim
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its lonely here.
W is on vacay and
rye bread partook
in perhaps too much yeast;
and i sit here waiting
patiently for midnight.
i am presently uncertain
as to my enthusiasm regarding
the aforementioned time.
overwhelmed, i decide to
take a short and
raggedy nap. |
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Post |
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| William is one today. |
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| 09:46am 15/12/2005 |
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mood:  intimidated by time's passing music: Backyardigans
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Life is passing me
quickly by.
Exams to be studied for
and birthday love to
be doled in massive
and frequent amounts.
Goodbye and Goodluck. |
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Post |
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| currently self-afflicted |
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| 10:43am 07/12/2005 |
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mood: self-afflicted music: W crying
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wicked anxious agitation
downcast and incensed:
amalgamation of
consequent qualms
inundate perceived
reality.
despondence ensues,
begat by self. |
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Post |
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| machinations unmatched and recurrent |
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| 08:25pm 06/12/2005 |
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mood:  thinkin' music: the sounds of my english class
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rheumatically animated
violet strings pluck upon themselves:
a satisfied tune, see major
issues abound like magazines
machinations unmatched and recurrent:
the enigmatic tacit of capricious
whit, whilst canisters buttress barricades
the polysyballic become affable:
meaning mutual cataclysmic proceeding
continuously to the fore with gusto
entity alights in the company of affluence:
such dogmatic countenance hesitates
an instant elapses with commanding castigations
venerating homage aptly and with fervor:
"this subterfuge reality begets aberratious acuity" |
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Post |
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| sleep approaches |
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| 10:12pm 01/12/2005 |
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mood:  stressed music: simpsons
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my neck is tight and my
phone call has faded away
into the unenergetic
somethingness that is
myself.
and still...
i am somethingness.
which is something,
i guess.
sleep approaches
quickkkkllllleyjdhj |
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Post |
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| reality |
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| 10:54am 28/11/2005 |
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mood: real, unfortunately music: baby hiccups
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my hopes have been dashed
as always they are in the end.
heart-heavy i write and conjure
a phone number that will lead,
perhaps, to happiness
or at least
some semblance of
unreality. |
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Post |
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| today, the beginning |
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| 08:01am 28/11/2005 |
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mood:  oo la la music: caillou
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finally i'm not at my braindead job.
but piles and piles of papers await me
although i near-always leave time for my
pleasures: writing, W, rye bread and art.
i recently finished a Speigelman -
"in the shadow of no towers." and suddenly
i am more enraged than usually.
today is a birth - day indeed.
the beginning of the beginning is not
as interesting as i would have
imagined it
to be. |
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Post |
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| the unabash-ed interview |
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| 10:18pm 26/11/2005 |
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mood:  confused music: Handel
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"ah yes," i said to the lurid and
unabash-ing reporter, "i know precisely
the question you're meaning to ask."
"ah yes?" "ah yes, might it be a question..."
"a question???" "inquiring about a
certain..." "a certain question???"
"a certain unpublished person?"
"it might, it might..." "and this
question..." "this question, my question???"
"might this question be..." "this question
be, this question be???" "about me?"
"ah yes, about you. this question is about
you. you..." "i???" "you like..." "i like???"
"do you like to eat shrimp cocktail when you write?"
"no..." "no???" "no, the sauce..."
"the sauce, the sauce???" "the sauce is too..."
"too, too???" "too messy, too messy: it
gets all over the papers."
"you are the most boring person..."
"person???"
"that i've ever interviewed. good day."
"well, fuck you too." |
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Read 2 - Post |
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| hated the holidays |
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| 09:07pm 22/11/2005 |
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mood: mmmmmmmmmmm music: Jeff Buckley - Hallelujah
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i wasn't doing very well this day.
i had decided to use past tense to
make everything seem less pitiable,
but alas, i was still in a bad way.
thanksgiving was around the corner;
yet another empty holiday to fill
the voids in our lazy, luscious lives.
i was a vegetarian and angry as well.
angry at everything mostly because
everything reminded me of me, in the
bad way. people were too intense for
me then, and i was like the rest.
i had felt ambitious before, see, and
i was wary of the feeling. but slowly
it crept up and grabbed hold and i thought:
"tomorrow will be different."
this day was today and this
was how i felt and now i am
constipated with the endless
barrage of bottomless baggage. |
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Post |
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| shattered myself |
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| 11:29pm 21/11/2005 |
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mood: swooning music: Handel
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i love words but i am choosing
silence from now on. i have been,
perhaps, too abrasive at times and
i am, without doubt, particularly
good with falsehoodery. but this is not
i, who love faeries and their tales,
not i, who writes poetry and prose
and one day hopes to successfully
fly a kite and write
a book,
not i, who cries when babies laugh
and grow up before your eyes;
this is not i and i am changing
the way i am and the way i play
the game. more subtle it will be,
i think, with more nuances and
under-the-table winking. more
appreciative of our short times together
and less aggressive jibber jabber.
oh swoon,
i think i've shattered
myself
image. |
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Post |
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| i just need to get paid. |
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| 12:29am 20/11/2005 |
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mood:  sick music: my coughing
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it's a green year indeed.
papers behind and two jobs ahead.
all i want to do is write and
there are so few who know
and none that encourage.
i don't need encouragement or
recognition or bullshit however.
i just need to get paid. i have tires
to fix and apartments to rent.
i even have some beer to drink.
drunk is what i am and understanding
people are not. i am not myself
at work and i am not myself
at school and i am not myself with
friends because i don't have any.
and i don't need'em 'cause i got
a car and a son and ten fingers.
tengo mi novio y mi lapice. i don't
need to surprise you or shock you or
please you. i just need to get paid. |
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Post |
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| no dough |
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| 12:11am 20/11/2005 |
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mood: awake music: humming
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i was driving, and i hit
a curb
at an estimated speed of
forty m p h.
now this curb, see,
this curb
was real slick and he came
up on me like shadow.
tap and jolt and the deed
was done.
he glared at me and hissed and
sat real snug down there.
later i checked out the damage.
no dough
to fix it see, so i have to
drive till it explodes. |
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Post |
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| my A-M thinks i'm on A-C-I-D |
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| 12:00am 20/11/2005 |
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mood:  teehee music: Bobby D
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well, i'm not,
but sometimes i drink and tonight,
i may seem more drunk than on other
nights. nights when i haven't drank.
chinaski and i will be one tonight, however
until the wee hours and i will read him
and in my mind it is william burroughs
that speaks hank's truth.
ah burroughs, he is the voice of my self.
we weep, burroughs and i, for chinaski.
as i said months ago,
i am in a bukowski mood. and before him,
in the first, formative years of my life
i was in an ee mood. and after him,
probably ginsberg. |
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Post |
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| So-so |
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| 09:25am 17/11/2005 |
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mood: relaxed music: Backyardigans
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i am stress-free and watching
Nick Junior with my son.
unfortunately, such events
do not inspire poetry.
correction: GOOD poetry. |
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Post |
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| on love |
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| 09:30pm 13/11/2005 |
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mood: satisfied music: lyrics born
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love is a manic depressive
with a penchant for paranoia.
but still we engage him
(we aim to please) and,
for the most part, he
is content as are we,
for the most part.
love sits slowly still
as cousin time races by and as
his slutty brother passion comes
and goes and succumbs.
love may not be as insane
as he once seemed.
no, he is not logical or
rational, nor is he
(to any degree)
forgiving, but he leaves us,
for the most part,
satisfied. |
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Post |
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| as Adrian would say: secks! |
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| 09:57pm 11/11/2005 |
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mood:  orgasmically radiant music: Simpsons: Maggie goes to Roofi Woodstock
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encompassed in that lusty slink
a sardonic smile and a round, hard
gesture
of loneliness and of
pleasure.
an orgasmic radiance. |
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