Reuben's Intuitions

I forgot

2010-08-30T09:30:00.000-07:00

I have returned, quite by accident in fact. This blogsite has rendered itself oblivious for a while, and much has happened.

I feel funny reading the old posts. Always growing up I guess. In two years I'll look again and feel funny again.

Anyhooo. Got some new stuff to put up. Will do that soon. Maybe people will read this.

Stay tuned,
Roy

Gah

2008-04-27T19:55:00.001-07:00

I have a constant disturbance of my routines of being. I feel stuck in a quicksand of nonsense questions and impossible desires. they go as such>

If I am only self conscious through my self conscious, there is a serious paradoxical situation to be dealt with. What looks at myself? Can my consciousness split and twist itself to distort itself as if I took my eyes out of my sockets to look at my face? Maybe only self consciousness is real and not the self itself, since the self that the self consciousness perceives is only a perception specifically of my self consciousness. Maybe I am only being such that without the motion of self consciousness there is no existence, to not be able to perceive a self from the distant vantage point of walkway of self consciousness I have no reference point for any of my sensibilities extended outside of me. maybe this is the existential nothingness I have always tried to avoid. It is not like I haven't felt it though, but to understand it a little more on a superficial rational plane just makes it a wider gap. gah.
talked to mom and dad today. i told them about my problem of not being able to get beyond the sense that everyone else lives in my life as a ghost and vice versa. she said you just have to trust so. I think mom became unintentionally a kierkegaard wit. first leap of faith I think is this gap between and my self before I can trust the ghosts to be substantial. then that, and then the next unto death. hehehe. yeah lame one.
what do you think?

please don't go
please don't go

Recently I have had a very strong desire to experience things without the colluded presence of my perceptions and existence. I want to see a rock as it is without me seeing it. maybe something even less than that. I want to see light and darkness as they are without me. I want to hear noise as they sound without me. I want to feel surfaces as they are without me. I want to taste food as it is without me. I want to smell air as it is without me. I want experience the existence of things without senses and without me. I want to think thoughts without my mind. I want to feel emotions without me. I want to exist without me. maybe that is how God exists.

How to become Immortal

2008-04-13T21:59:00.001-07:00

I am so sorry
I can’t move over the mountain
Standing stones
Just being in the way
Of everything
There are seasons
Where war and revolutions
Constitutions, hopes and anticipations
Immaculate considerations
Of the beautiful
And all the other I O Ns
Where we wish to begin
With the ends

I am sorry I have
Lost sight of sanity
They seem to haunt me
Like all perfect ghosts
In the reflections
Of my failures and my intentions
You’ll see
I cannot come to ague with you all
I have no war to fight
I have no peace to win
I have gone too far form here
And I cannot steer away from the hole
Of my emptiness

No one told me
That people die because they love.
How their words are with me
But I cannot live to understand
These bright days
And how they slip away
Without me
I stand still from far away
I can only reach the world from a distance
From a stance on the horizon

No one told me
That life cheaper during the day
Why did I go away to feel at night
And why did I lay me down among withering leaves
To try and remember the life in them.

I’ll quit my words
I’ll leave once again
I’ll forget all of you
I’ll see new things
And leave the past to die
I’ll know nothing
And never try to
I’ll kiss no one
I’ll kill everything
Just to win me back
I won’t be sad
I’ll let me grow
Into shadows and lights
I’ll reflect
Everything I see.
I’ll murder god
I’ll save judas
I’ll burn by my
Station wagon fuel
It was all of you who made
So all of you must hate me
And light the match
And light the match
And light the match
I should have known.

As the car drives by four in the morning,
A distant smoke rises in the first sun chatters
The roadside shows a charcoaled skeleton
Some car gone wrong
And the ambulance flashing silently in prayer
Over the man screaming bloody murder
Curdling and nursing his roasted skin,
His eyes shake a breath of anticipation
Mumbles the presence of an unseen man
With fingers made of stars
And hair made of sun
The day has risen in front of him
As he leaves here when the night dies.

perfect ghosts

2008-04-07T14:04:00.000-07:00

I am hungry.
I came they stay, so strange today.
It is hard for me with philosophy. with understanding, needless to say that knowledge is only a small facet of the entire bric-a-brac of understandings. with understanding. I meddle among the thought of transubstantiation. I meddle with the echo of my visional perception within from the shouts without, so that I and my experiences are one fabric, from the outer exposed phenomenon to even my dreaming of the impossible perceptive noumenon. and when I think about it I can't leave. I can't say yes or no, because I am. I am thinking and feeling, sensing, outwardly towards all life sensibly and inwardly towards all of me appropriated. all in me and out of me. I see you through the grounds of my fabric of my understandings, I know you only so and not you as your very independent consciousness. It compounds upon my every reaction towards you. that is that I only talk and live with you as I react to a mirror, or reading a story, it only comes alive upon my reading and grasping it by the pages and turning them, and signifying each symbol into a letter, each letter into a word, each word into a sentence where from which all understanding explodes only within my echoing body. Body in the Ponty sense. I must visit in my mind Proust's Combray and have tea and a cookie. or maybe just wake up.
So how hard it is depart form the entirety of this existence, is dependent on our senility or sanity. somewhere in between I think lies the great escape and ecstasy. st. elisabeth the tertiary.
My difficulty with philosophy is its exercise of the understanding as a total sum of humanity, and yet it lies within one person at a time. where do we connect? why is solipsism bad? why is it not true? why in the angle of darkness? but maybe it is actually within the curve light where we all become each other's perfect ghost?
I am going to go eat lentil soup now with bread and water. or in other words, I fail at language.

I am so sorry

2008-03-31T23:03:00.003-07:00

this place is stubborn
walls with walls
and sirens that never call
you to come away.

I am a stubborn
lie upon lie
and learning to lure
me to come away.

i precised myself to stay
and again
I tell me why I came
to leave
again
my passive care,
my dozens stare
into the blue dark
my half gone fare
to take the waters
upon me feet
how long do I die.
how do you cry
about me gone
upon my feet
and fabric on my back
where was time
where is the chime
of the living bells
I am so sorry.

Fayetteville Dreams

2008-03-31T23:03:00.001-07:00

once you seen the green pages
and they flutter into a clutter
see what you say
as they follow the cloves
of your folding memories
mighty might say they say everything that's said
moving in grain,
with thousand tamborines
clashy cloudy clay chimes
know that i saw you
I say you
Know that I knew you
and you knew too few
to tie the knot
to lie
and sigh.

What's Wrong

2008-03-31T23:02:00.001-07:00

It's over the distance
the fangled fires of a planet
gone a sinking into slump greys
and so comes the night
with the second best awry
and here she comes!
and here she comes!
and here she comes!

awaking to the drowning noise
of a lingering lure
some pale aura prowls
the morning dawn
to leave me alone
and there she left!
and there she left!
and there she left!

Never Said So

2008-03-31T23:01:00.002-07:00

I write
to tell the lies in blinds
that I want you not to see
and the clanged gallow
marks the border of my tales
tentative torture to your heart
it's not easy
and I've never said so.
so comes out the sun
underneath the gales
of your thrashing thrones.
you told me you were poor;
it's not easy
and you've never said so.

Earthquakes

2008-03-31T23:01:00.001-07:00

here it comes like a grain
a pellet of sincerity
insane to the big
and small to the doubt
falling faster and slower
and right into the crack
between all of us
there is this little seed
senile in truth.

Cave

2008-03-31T23:00:00.000-07:00

he's another real father
with eyes and hands and all
he has the semen that made you
and with it made you born
out of the cave of your mother's
emptiness.
yeah -
he's another real father.

Cartons

2008-03-31T22:59:00.000-07:00

Shining, shining eyes,
fell in love with another
and found how she wounds for love
when we can be a shining body

cartons of milk and crayons
here come my children
they were the heave metal sand
that came out of my other
for her shining, shining eyes.

Mach mir Mut

2008-03-26T20:16:00.002-07:00

It's in the embodied lines
crumpled papers and paper moons
It's in the platonic lies
yellow bark aging to die in the colour of pale
Yeah moving along trainwrecks to Fayetteville
to Richmond
to J. Reynolds
to bliss and dead shot brother blooming with blood
under the shadow of the mountains and pines with their
yellow bark aging.

What we are going to do

2008-03-26T20:16:00.001-07:00

the wind coming closer over my eyes. what am i gonna do, when the soul runs out of body soddering death and life to a knit scheme of ingrown incompleteness colouring corroded rust on paper walls of bathroom stall signatures and the usual commencement.

I've got a difference

2008-03-26T20:15:00.000-07:00

I saw the rose rounded
around the curve of a character
I wondered what was behind its shadow,
seamless notions that I legislate
to truths I could dream anyways,
but I am burdened with a freedom of living
to understand the experience of beauty.
I've got a difference in between me and me.
The rose unfolded to a shower of revealed
inwardness when i was till gone,
so do I know that it would have had done so anyway
without me, and without itself.
I've got a difference I shouldn't have known.
And time rolls in on me like a wallowing comfort
I can get off and forget that things live in and out of me.
I've got a difference of burden inside of me and the rose.

2008-03-11T19:36:00.001-07:00

considering my future, ladidadida.
and octo shame.

2008-02-27T00:00:00.001-08:00

There is no other way, the best way the only way, the perfect way. Just live.

2008-02-21T20:23:00.001-08:00

Glazes of Questions

2008-02-20T22:52:00.000-08:00

I am tired of lines I have to write
Where I am to make you believe,
Or the world to understand,
Or the brain of mine to mature,
But here comes the catch:
I can’t make it align
with Me or you or their minds.
They are what they are,
And no spider of my being
can weave a web of rationality and beauty between them.

Oh come on words of rhyme
And voices of reason
Howl me through one more night
(Crushing coral waves grinding iron against iron and hate and love groaning in bed with demons screeching laughter through gritting teeth of rust and a really angry hyena crunching through the bones of marbles of the innocent and the ignorant)
I just need one more line
To make sense to you,
And then I will apologize for my inconvenience.
After that you will chain
And drown me in celadon blues
And stone me with copper greens
And leave me with a pretty fucking white life.

On a side note I went and saw Howard Zinn's "Marx in Soho". fabulous. Highly recommend it. Also the play mentioned the Commune of Paris. I decided to read up on it on wikipedia. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Commune_of_Paris. Then i decided to write some poetry because I submitted a poem going:

I just need on more line
to make sense to you
I apologize for my inconvenience.

I was there for the submission review, but no one knew it was my poem. It got rejected and someone said it wasn't thought out. So did something with it. And now I will postpone a paper I should have started writing. yes mom, I am still giving myself that little edge for all nighters. And now I will sleep and work tomorrow and sleep and work after that and sleep and work for a few more years, and then I will have a degree to show that I am smart and an accepted entity of the societal world of career and educational expectations, because that is all that is in store for us. We need to know how to be critical, tactful, niceful and smartful and workful. that is all that there is. be submissive and sit on the boils of our asses as Marx said.

2008-02-19T12:32:00.002-08:00

He woke up with a steaming head
Because of a dream he knew was true
That his wife was in another man’s bed
She sees the blood behind his face
Asking “How can you be an idiot with a heart!”
The gun quakes as he makes her waste

A hole in her forehead
Skin and bones split
To pour the blood
With a bullet in her brain
And a body at his feet –
An innocent gun and guilty hands
Stared at each other
In the quietest room that night
Until the police come
To take him home.

2008-02-19T12:32:00.001-08:00

What we believe we are seeing the drink in your hand clearing a crystalline wasser taste like hate putting itself bare cold and clear I know what I want to shoot and who I will put under my aim myself the hole in my heart must be filled with a bullet is easier to see all this with an object like this one gun in my hand in your view in my mind in time death comes into our arms again again and again to be zen or jen or then else all would kill itself in view of van Gogh’s black ravens to bring bread abroad the river’s shadow where we grow into spawning sleepy willows to bring the blow of charcoal dust in my corroding smoking lungs more than what I am seeing in this blunt covered object. Title: Irrationality and my hatred.

2008-02-19T12:30:00.004-08:00

I took my heart
And let it breathe
I let it sink away from here

I took my body
And my noisy mind
I let them sink into the shape of my heart
I picked up the blue crayon
Drew the ocean quietly
And myself in a coat
I picked up the brown crayon
And drew the cliff I am standing on
And the hull of the boat
And I took black for its steam
And engine

I took my heart
And forced it to see
I made it eat this air here

I took my body
And noisy mind
I made them fit the shape of the library
I picked up the black crayon
And drew many grids
Like a paper full of scars
And a grid chair and desk
And my grid body hunched over
I took a yellow crayon
And drew the state light of a lamp
To illuminate the blackness

Stop whispering
Or stop shouting
Just shut up
And listen
I need to talk
And need you to believe
Cold shoulders
Cold mountains
I can’t believe.

2008-02-19T12:30:00.003-08:00

Words are hungry
Etch them on my skin
And feel the thunder of the thoughtless
Something has lost its eyes on the horizon
Something too much.
Make me run a sweat
Make me run my bloody feet and knees
Make me mock myself
More morose then a cloudy morning.

Peace is someone’s hope
And another’s death
It is always give and take.
Or give and fake.
Death born in each of us
Drowning us day by day, until
I see him anchoring me on the ocean’s floor
From water to water.
From mud to mud.
Sometime’s it feels like cold fires of truth
I cannot bear with my mind.

On the weekend, I drink my happy sin
And on days I make myself a happy grin
And underneath the stretching skin of smiles
There still begs the questions of existence
And guilt and innocence,
But I keep stretching my skin tighter to taunt them
To choking deaths.

Don’t ask me the right things,
I want the lies and the skies
Not the earth my feet are grown to.
Don’t give me salvation,
I want the trouble to never have been born
And be a fake plastic life -
Until it takes me away.

2008-02-19T12:30:00.001-08:00

I must have lost my new mind
Because it has been a Sabbath of time
Since I have seen you
Now will you take me as as me
Or the mind who I was?

How do I make you
Understand
The stars I have been hanging on to
Where my eyes have fallen
Within the yards of imagination

I hear the fruits falling
From summer worn trees
They are heavy with hearts of autumn
For us to taste and feast.

So much time goes by
Every night line of skies
Is waking me from my dreams
And it seems, you are farther away
Than you wanted to be
Or have I held on to the stars again?

With your dust in my eyes and my soul’s rust on your floor
Blowing around with fall winds.

I must find my old mind
Because it’s always a Sabbath of time
Every time I see you
Now will you deem me as me
Or will I cease to never have been?

More Ceramics

2008-02-10T19:06:00.000-08:00

Ceramics

2008-02-10T19:03:00.000-08:00

A working list of beings

2008-02-08T08:14:00.000-08:00

emotional being
moral being
rational being
irrational being
political being
social being
animalistic being
realistic being
pessimistic being
idealistic being
instinctive being
diplomatic being
imaginative being
creative being
sincere being
massive being
rash being
aggressive being
incentive being
righteous being
just being
living being
loving being
dead being
lustful being
erotic being
physical being
objective being
subjective being
linguistic being
grammatical being
poetic being
fashionable being
pragmatic being
ecstatic being
spiritual being
holy being
selfish being
selfless being
collateral being
wreckless being
humble being
proud being

My list

2008-01-17T16:45:00.000-08:00

giant isopod
tortoise (african spur)
octopus (giant pacific)
giant and colossal squids

Where have I gone? Where do I need to be?

I think

2008-01-10T14:57:00.000-08:00

Maybe we do have wings! only we fly with them potruding out of the cocoon we live in...

New Hampshire

2008-01-08T16:08:00.000-08:00

Watch the greek gods cry, whom we should give our souls. Bring us change and make times important now, when in a hundred years they will be ashes as too...

Where shall I go now?

2007-12-26T16:43:00.000-08:00

I have cooked and written. Shall I die now?

Nausea

2007-12-20T04:14:00.001-08:00

Airports make everyone lonely. Even with family, special (really?)other, and friends, somehow you must travel and no one else takes that. So when alone, it is easiest, to be alone. It is Weltschmerz implemented, or Sartre's Nausea, and that beer glass you can't look at. It sitting down for so long, needing to shave, needing to shower, needing to read, needing to sleep, and whatever else... Have a coffee and cigarette and shiver out there. Or come inside and lay your tired head on marble floor (hide your bowl and camera). Every twenty minutes suffering, the true one within, wakes you up. That is when you realize you are alone, no matter what. So here either you fear or you rejoice in the freedom. Make a choice or run from (then your freudian ego made the choice - you become on of the masses and still lonely). I decided to hope for the first choice. Then I decided to love, first that power who put me here, then me, because I was put here. Then that person next to me asleep and who is afraid. After that I decided to watch the sun rise, not with my eyes, but with my solitude. That is what happened to the loneliness, it rose from the depths of the night within, where it was clawed down by sunken hollow ships' anchors. It rose to the surface of within to where I could grasp it. I saw this corpse of existence, washed moss green and faded coral blue- and I really didn't know, nothing with my mind could explain. But I knew with passion and faith - and it become a bright phoenix, all by itself without anyone or anything but the wilderness of the mysteries to roam in.

shaking your ass class

2007-12-14T19:23:00.001-08:00

A teacher asked me if I liked to move my body... because I was surprised by the question I replied hesitantly yes, that matter of fact I do like to.
"Then take my class!"

reading just doesn't cut it

2007-12-14T18:03:00.001-08:00

sometimes I call you just to hear your voice, words aren't enough, but I need them alive with your breath.

Marmaduke and God's strangling tentacles of time.

2007-12-14T17:12:00.000-08:00

The Devil’s Hand
It is hard to be a rational man with no trouble in his heart. All this scientific certainty and all these politics feel like a façade of idealism painting over the pain of the beaten wife, aborted babies, men killing each other for the hope of a dozen virgins and a heaven or some country’s dream for freedom. You have to make a choice. Either you’re with us, or you’re with reality.
It is the history of life that makes me think any idealism is a dream, yet it is this precise flow of time that never leaves us without hope. It drives us, walking on a line of past looking at the feet of our now, and to want to implore the future is open for anything, while we make inquiries of the past, are forgetting our feet that carry us and really try to determine our future with these dreams.
We observe, probe, extrapulate the past. We mark, memorize and mesmerize our young by the failure of our race. We emancipate ourselves from any responsibility of it. We laugh, scold, and make a nervous tick motion of the head to the left, when we are uncomfortable at how relevant those problems from the past are to us now. We love, revel, and learn in the now. We read, write, and think here. We appropriate, confess, materialize in the present. We smell, taste, hear, see and feel now.
But the future – there we dream hope and dread. We simply anticipate and cannot do any other way.
It is somehow all black and void. Like a big something, really no something of nothing or of another else.
The difficulty is we let ourselves be completed guided by this force we take for granted, like sleepwalking children being led by the devil’s hand. This time thing is beautiful in our dreams and it is like Augustine said, only because the reality of time is beyond the reality of our sleep.
These million’s of representations have made it a form of worship, the sun dial, the grandfather clock chiming with the church tower’s, the pocket watch and the gentleman’s Rollex, the satellites in the sky and the light mirrors in the physic labs. It’s all to sleep with more precise dreams, and obviously it comes crashing down when the system crashes. Wall street wails like the devil lost his war when Jesus died, people are in darkness and lose all their money, but the poor in Africa know no difference.
Time is a devil we can’t live without, as long as we make it one.
Time consciousness cracks like breaking knees, twigs in the face of the reality of the ambiguous. A house of joker cards tumbling in silent horror, and the devil looks from behind and asked why did you build it anyway?

Momentous Insight

2007-12-12T23:30:00.000-08:00

After writing about mysticism, internal reflection of God and Time, and cutting my hand, and another RA emergency duty, I couldn't help but realize that peanut butter is probably what makes me fart all the time.

Who cried?

2007-12-12T00:19:00.001-08:00

I am so tired that I started crying. I mean my eyes were crying, because they were tired.

I think they are lonely too, because the eyelids shriveled up into oblivion.

A true Mystery of life and the worst drawing

2007-12-11T23:49:00.000-08:00

Why is it irresistable to pick a scab?

I hope to draw better in the future.

Things to Consider

2007-12-11T23:41:00.001-08:00

Yesterday

2007-12-11T19:59:00.001-08:00

yesterday I felt tired. Today i feel tired as well. Tomorrow hopefully I wont be as tired. Does only tiredness exist?
Sliding scale of tiredness:

Poop

2007-12-11T19:45:00.000-08:00

When a baby poops and cries because it is uncomfortably festering in his diapers, it is reflecting the reality of the world he lives in. Things are stinky and you have to deal with them.

When I shouldn't

2007-12-10T19:43:00.001-08:00

This is just not fiction
Words could not be more dry
With a well of ideas at their fingertips
And I could not be any later
And nightier slightier to sleep
So I have got to fight her
Writing these word of fiction.

Eat Meat

2007-12-10T17:00:00.000-08:00

It's hard to be a vegetarian when you can't find chicken and garlic flavored vegetable broth for your lentil soup :-(

Bad Temptation

2007-12-10T13:11:00.001-08:00

It's a really bad Idea to be reading and taking notes in your bed. I woke up not finding my pen and my book and papers were crumpled.

When waking up from a nap

2007-12-10T13:05:00.000-08:00

I thought how cool it was that my computer clock said 15.55. I like having my clock on european mode, and I realized that is because otherwise it could never read 22.22. because in american mode you can only get to 11.11. Maybe someday it will say 33.33. I really hope Jesus lets that happen before we all die.

2007-11-21T20:11:00.000-08:00

welcher liebe
bin schuldig
wenn es mir brennt
trotz leerer arme.
Man fragt mir nach almosen
und ich zuende
zigaretten fuer uns
welcher einsamkeit
bist du schuldig
wenn ich doch neben dir sitze.

2007-11-19T13:27:00.000-08:00

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hellalujah
Hell comes to the
Heart of my happiness
It will put some fire up my ass
But for now I can’t see why I can be
This student
Of life.
Singing lalalala for the mind
Singing lalalala lies for the lying heart.

2007-11-19T13:24:00.001-08:00

It’s the thing I am most afraid of
Beinghuman
Being alive.
Why do they say I can’t run away
Why can’t I take a pillow case
And suffocate
Why can’t I bleed and
Die
Why is it human to struggle
A conflict
Why do we have to strive through?
These Troubles coming like torpedos
We have to dodge
And when hit
Just call a medic
And cry on his shoulder
“I am going die, Oh my God
I am going to die!”
And you will be alright
Why not cry
“I am going to die, thank my God,
I am going to die”
And whimper a last breath
With a smile on your face
Then angels might sing
Hallelujah
You found no reason to live
Because why would God love to see me
Being purposeless?
Why should I be a bulletless gun?
Why should I scrounge the creek side
For slick rocks
When I’ve got no sling
To kill my own goliath
Let his club swing
At bees like me
I can sting
And I can die.
Hallelujah
The angels will sing
That forgiveness is giving up.
Worries will make you sick
Worries are the devil
Hallelujah
They will sing
They be shining lights
As you faint
because blood pours from your wrists.

2007-11-19T13:23:00.001-08:00

I can tell you
That drugs lie
You will be happy
To forget the truth
You will want to die
And you will want to throw up after
You do.

2007-11-19T13:21:00.000-08:00

Is that alright
If I give up
And run away
To grey comfort
Of pale pillars abandoned
By society for sanity
Where weeds play the destruction like
A green cough in the cracks of these temples
Of plasticity
Serve me my café ole
With coffee and espresso
To burn these moments into my brain.
Is that alright
If I pray on my knees
To a dead grey god
Murdered by words
And worship our dying
Magicians of canneries
Where we grey dumbfounded
Have put our friends and mothers
Into the airtight shells
Of a mass market.
Is that alright
If I never speak again
Because a tornado would kill
Me if breathed out
An idea of life.
Where plain destruction
Would not be asked to be understood.

Halleluja.

I want to live a life
To die and say I forget.

2007-11-19T13:19:00.001-08:00

And these drugs
Chemicals of cranium craning around my lungs
So I sleep a false sleep
And can’t understand you
I can’t see you
I can’t hear you
Laugh at me.

In the end
We all know
That we die
We all throw
Away truths for lies.
We are old
And forget what we are told
We want to
Know that we die
Halleluja

2007-11-19T13:16:00.000-08:00

It slips around your mind
Like a slippery grey nooze
Siltently slicking slapping choke around my ears and eyes
Hearing muffled mumbles meaning
Nothing to their incommensurability
When you say lalalala
I want to die
Because I see grey groanings from all your eyes
And the leaves are dead digging themselves into the ground
With the help of defecating bugs.

Fluids

2007-11-17T23:18:00.001-08:00

I want to lie on my side
To let the fluid run out of my ear.
These infections
They are like honey
To the depressed.
They are like a cantus
For the dying.

When Sick

2007-11-10T21:50:00.000-08:00

Words from "Fear and Trembling" by Kierkegaard as translated by Hong.

"Not with a bang, but a whimper."

2007-11-10T21:38:00.000-08:00

A bang is loud for now
But a whimper is quiet
It just takes a harvest moon
To look upon
It just takes
A cold, cold cold night
With stars hiding
It just takes people
Leaving for
The commercial piety
And the devotions to magazines
It just takes
Paris Hilton to regret
And everyone tears up.
Or at least turns on the tv.
A bang is quiet beyond the now.
And Whimpers are louder tomorrow.

Who do you believe now?
Who do you believe now!
Who do you believe now?
Who do you believe now!
Who do you believe now?
Who do you believe now!
Who do you believe now?
Who do you believe now!
Who do you believe now?
Who do you believe now!
Who do you believe now?
Who do you believe now!
Who do you believe now?
Who do you believe now!
Who do you believe now?
Who do you believe now!
Who do you believe now?
Who do you believe now!
Who made you believe.

These days

2007-11-10T21:37:00.001-08:00

I saw the panther
As it grew
More black and more sleek
Like this mind and soul
Surviving in a jungle
Of society.

Ultimatum

2007-10-30T20:16:00.001-07:00

Leave me in peace
Passion

Running around tonight
With black ringed tired eyes
You’re the rock in my throat
You’re the knot in my coat
That I can’t wear
Till I’ve signed the treatise
To die.

Grey Flowers.

2007-10-23T18:38:00.001-07:00

This is just a little,
A little
Grey flower
Dried overcast summers
With rain melting it
To a waxed down stone.
Nothing could make it live
Live ever again.

When did you know I was dead?
When did you leave me here to be left unsaid?
Where are my obituaries?
I want to hear what you have to say about me,
I want to hear how you got to leave without me!
And how,
How could you never really see
What I always see
In this dreary race.
I want to know,
Know where you left the books unfinished
Where you moved your heart to the morgue.
Love it alone
Alone,
Alone.
Love it alone,
Alone,
Alone.

Leave it here with me.
With grey flowers
Rain and stones.
Hearts are well kept
When they are alone.
You carved it out so.
You washed it dry
Where a tear could not meet a cry.

You felt without friends,
Like stars and moons hide behind clouds
And rain melts you down,
Down, down.
Like a waxed stone.

Als Mensch

2007-10-23T07:10:00.001-07:00

Ich brauche keine Zeit
Nur Luft der Einsamkeit
Und ein Blick des Himmel’s auf Erden
Aber trotz der Jenseits und Unerreichbarkeit
Dieser Dinge vergessen
In wiederholter Bloedsinn des Leben
Bin Ich Mir wenigsten klar
Des ueberwaeltigen Grau sein aller Zustaende
Meines Dasein.

Als Mensch, ist Mensch
Das einsamste aller Wesen
Weil mit Selbsbewustsein
Kann nur einer ihm ganz durchblicken
Sich Selbst und ein Hoeheres Wesen
Weil wer sonst wird sein Trauer und Freude,
Seine Schulden und Freiheiten
Ganz and voll erleben
Wenn es ausser seines Wesens ist.
Das objektische Dialogue
Ist nur einer mit verdunkelten Fenstern
Nur das Bild das Ich malen kann
Wird mir verstaendlich vorgetragen
Von Mir Selbst
Und dort ist es ein verhuelltes Dasein
Welches wir mit Stroh und besoffenes Lachen erfuellen
Nur umso leichter in Hoelle zu verbrennen.

Greenhouse Grey

2007-10-22T17:48:00.001-07:00

Time and time
And reality again
Twisting and twining
Of intermixing dejavus,
Love of a god caught in his own greenhouse
And I sit here merely being in a flower
Of grey colours
Wanting to find a hallelujah of brighter things

Friends

2007-10-21T21:16:00.000-07:00

All night long,
All night long,
The room is full
Of smoke rings
All night long

Your father called after midnight
With bodies in his closet
And bugs in the air
Bottles on the floor
Screaming we’re all gonna die.

Your lover downtown
Makes it known
That her man gives roses every Sunday
And makes it secret
That you meet under covers
She says he can’t blow smoke rings

All night long
All night long
The room is full
of smoke rings
All night long.

Lately I can’t fall asleep
With books half finished
And a silent piano
I ride my bike to the shore
Twenty black miles
Into nowhere

Your house is made of cardboard
lost your job to your mind
and drugs up your nose
slumping in with a cold
everyday that you should have walked
out with a smile

your wife in town
lets it known
that you’ve become a ghost
worst she says you died
in an accident
one that you only seen written
on divorce papers she signed
while blowing smoke rings

all night long
all night long
the room is full
of smoke rings
all night long

lately, I can’t fall asleep
I hear friends crying for respect
While I nurse coffee and cigarettes
All night long
Hear the children in countries
Crying joy for a bowl of rice
And staying alive while working
The queries
That bring boulders crashing down
To keep us smiling
And blowing smoke rings

All night long
All night long
The room is full
Of smoke rings
All night long.

Only the rain can drown us all
Only the rain will wash it all
Only the rain will.

Worthwhile

2007-10-20T23:47:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I will retire
Close my eyes
And look inside

And if I
Taste fire
Will you tell me that I am in hell?
And if I
Taste fire
Will you leave me where I fell?

Tonight, I will smile
Say nothing
Make it worthwhile

And if I
Taste fire
will you hold my hand and burn?
And if I
Taste fire
Will you forget the life we yearn?

Nursing coffee and cigarettes
All night long
With death guiding this carriage
Six feet underground
To have the worms eat my skin
The devil has been waiting
Since the day
I tasted water

Tonight, I will sleep
Hold your hands
And forget to weep.

This window, they be shinging lights.

2007-10-16T20:35:00.001-07:00

I look outside from outside.
And this inside
Is a desert which my life must be
Where a wind scatters me to sand dunes
Where only heat and some scorpion malingers
And I could walk over them only to find a range of more
There is no sky and no clouds
Just emptiness above and beyond the horizon
Where my hands crack
And my throat crumbles
And becomes dust

Then I look inside
And you wait
Like an angel in a desert
Where a wind brings me home
And your kiss quenches my thirst
And your voice summons
Raging space of thundering clouds
From above and beyond the horizon.

Er bricht meine Rippe

2007-10-05T06:45:00.000-07:00

I ask myself
If I have the words written on my heart
Like those written on pages by reiner rilke
Letztens ist die Frage selbst eine Antwort
In dessen sich Frieden nie finden kann.
(Lastly, is the question an answer itself
in which peace can never be found)
Words are hard to make sound beautiful
And bother you like spinning webs of
spawning trees
In which you try to find beauty
But get caught up in yourself.
Was ist wenn Schoenheit nicht in der Natur liegt
Sondern im Zerstoerung dessen durch
Das Leben unser Menschehit
(What if beauty is not in nature
but the in destruction of it
by the life of our humanity)
Because man is man
We walk pittfully lonely
In shells of nautilus
Round in our own spiral
Und Spiralen der Vergangenheit
Verschweigen die Suende als Ursprung
Unseres Dasein, und die Worte unsere Poesie
(and spirals of the past
do not reveal the sins as the origion
of our existence and the words of our poetry)
We can touch these plastic souls
Poke them on sticks
And melt them like marshmellow roasts
Over our fires of ignorance
And everyone laughs, because the heat feels good
And believes our uniqueness comes from the mold we are all made of
And everyone loves the smell of the shit we fuel our furnaces with
The shit of tv sitcoms, cars and Paris Hilton
The shit of the lost soul in the reflection of beauty magazines
And our gaping mouths shining a hygene brighter than the altars of European church gold
With the Volume of our vocal chords strumming over the quiet whisper of agony of our blindness
To all these, to all these complexes
To all these, to all these beautiful hoaxes
Wie sind unsere Rechte als Menschheit
verschweigt wurden
Wer hat uns verloren
in unsere Gas Kammern
Wem machen wir die Schuld recht?
(how were our rights as a humanity
silenced from us
who lost us
in the gas chambers
whom do we do justice be their injustice?)
Pin it on your pale body (whose colour is in the mirror reflection of blindness)
Pin it on your education and the teacher who looked you up the skirt
Pin it on dad and mom, saying they love you
And divorce night and day
Pin it on the dartboard
No matter how many times – the bulls eye is no dead center
But behind your own sternum
And mind that your bones are just calcium atoms
Atoms are atoms, as Adam and the adam’s apple, the forbidden apple
All one inanimate sphere of electrons, protons and neutrons
Some cursed with a breath, some privileged to be lifeless
Where can we find a line for us to make beauty in all of it
I guess it just isn’t happening
I guess it just isn’t writing in the lines of history
A thing of mere scientific conception
Looking at the past through a magnifying glass
When you look at your ugly stubbly self
This is fucked up
Fucked up

And Jesus won’t walk away from me
Er bricht meine Rippe
(he breaks my rib)
He won’t walk away
Er zerreist meine Lungen
(he tears my lung)
He wont leave me here
Er macht weniger Sinn
(he makes less sense)
And he leaves peace in that
Ich kann nicht weg von ihm
(I can't get away from him)
My feet melting into this forest
Wie ein Banyan Baum
(like a banyan tree)

(Permit me to forgive myself
for steeling out of my lost inspiration
that of others delicate concoctions)

What they say

2007-10-05T06:44:00.000-07:00

There I was
There I am
When
The moon said
The shadows are light
The desert whispered
The rest is at peace
The dog barked
For the hunger of my flesh
The bugs crawled
Before he could maul
And the stars teared
For the sleep
the sun rose
burning all of me

The love of Isaac

2007-09-30T09:50:00.001-07:00

I am becoming whole
In my writhing striving
With and against God
His command to love him
And others as myself
And sacrifice me and them
My sons and daughters
And my friends that may be my enemies
To him
How can I slice my love
With the sword of God’s love
In three parts
And boil them in a cauldron
On Mt. Moriah.

BS

2007-09-30T09:49:00.001-07:00

I am a philosopher that despises the conduct of philosophy
I am a philosopher that conducts by living and eating
I am a philosopher because I am not a philosopher
I am a philosopher for contradicting myself
For despising its conduct yet having conducted it
To be able to act what I want to be in order not to be.

Passionless

2007-09-21T09:37:00.000-07:00

wem soll man glauben
wenn man sich selbst vertuschen versucht hat
indessen dass die elan der gefieder sich ins
graue
jeder anderens gefieder verschmiert hat.

soon after

2007-09-20T10:45:00.001-07:00

There I was
There I am
When
The moon said
The shadows are light
The desert whispered
The rest is at peace
The dog barked
For the taste of my flesh
The bugs crawled
Before he could maul
And the stars teared
For the sleep
the sun rose
burning all of -....

Under leaves

2007-09-16T22:22:00.001-07:00

The songs you let breathe
They leave me
Behind the shadows

Oh come, and sit down
With me

The words you let spill
They leave me
Confused in shadows

Oh come, and sit down
With me

Come sit down
I am tired

If these abstracts escape me
If I am wrong again
If need concrete motivations
Like your lips and hands
If I need you
Wake me.

Come, and sit down
With me

I am sorry dear
I have forgotten you here
in eternal shadows
they grow over my eyes
the willow of death
only lets me forget myself
as it branches grow out
in front of me

oh come, and sit down
with me
sleeping this long
is lonely.

2007-09-16T22:21:00.000-07:00

Behind the Moon

2007-09-16T22:13:00.000-07:00

Say you’re fine
Say that you trust the man in the moon
And no one else, not even me

Because that star is the only one with
Visible shadows
The only ones seen at night

Say you’re sure
Say that you know what comes behind the moon
And send me a postcard with your memories

Because you breathing is shallow
Your skin is yellow
And your name is escaping the day

"Do you know my poetry" - Dead Man

2007-09-10T06:34:00.000-07:00

the world doesn't dream of itself,
so who is,
when living awake feels like one.
nothing of a noetic structure
not even a poetic rupture
to explain the rift in my senses
from the grass, stairs, fence
a body and a drink
and of that which is in my head

I am here, you there
and delibly apart
still I can't make sense of it.
and the longer I try
it all becomes more faded into the
grey ocean
until there's nothing left to be.

Street Shadows

2007-08-19T20:05:00.000-07:00

walk in the shadows of homesickness
is really nothing particular
familiar – afterall
on call or duty is what I really need not be right now
care for the fare, of this harem
that leaves you with a sickened feeling like when you ate too much candy
dandy the fancy fancifull pirouetting polymers of disgust and arrogance
mir wird schwer
wenn ich an die Zukunft meine Hoffnung haenge
was wird wenn ich die Vergangenheit so lasse wie sie ist
ohne meine letzten Worte, die muessen sich immmer wieder
neuschreiben, neu nachpruefen, neu schreiben, neu pruefen, neu dazu schreiben neu dort druecken

I am a giant

2007-08-19T19:54:00.000-07:00

Death is upon my eyelids
So honey, kiss them and give me my cigarettes
So I can heave in my joys
And breather out my sorrows

Life is leaving my ribcage
So honey give me my cup of wine
The sweet blood of mother earth
And touch my trembling chest

Scars of splinters in my back
With the mouse of god
Picking it from my lion soul
And never forgiving the my hunger for flesh

Durch Gelassenheit

2007-08-16T20:39:00.000-07:00

lies are easy to breathe
when they oint me in the smell of lavender
and faces bow to the rationalization
of my idealism of the whore of the church

jesus come down from the tree
you’ve waited till autumn
have made its branches bare of leaves
jesus come down from the tree
for me to leave

skies and curves of your body are
easy to spill on an easel
when talking to you underneath bed sheets
and tell your blind eyes to see the stars

jesus come down from the tree
you’ve waited till winter
has made you frozen pale grey
jesus come down from the tree
for me to leave

roman nails are easy to seal
a body’s wrists and ankles to a living tree
and they melt to a lead rust
poisening the blood and flesh
rotting to the tree’s knotted dying mesh
till atoms and atoms are one

jesus let me on the tree
make their words the nails
;et me lay my face to your face
and my lips to your lips
jesus let me on your tree
for me to believe

The Old Testament and Kierkegaard's Love for Humanity

2007-08-16T20:22:00.000-07:00

Hello mcdonalds across the street
Weeping children crossing under your feet
Hello ragged change maker
Give him a smoke instead
And tell him of Elijah

Hello construction of a tram
Ways for us to avoid uncle sam
Hello night long shifts
Of endless waging
And tell them of Elijah

Hello nutshell soul
More empty than whole
Hello posh porsche sliming the streets
Blind on the inside
As to the outside of tainted windows

Tell them, tell them of Elijah
Tell them, tell them to ask their god for fire
For the sacrifice of their
Life for magazine furniture
You just can’t walk away from your self
And your shelves of coffee cups
He just can’t lie away from himself
And his sex-stained bed sheets
She just can’t burn away from herself
And the bruised scars on her arm
We just can’t die away from ourselves
And our fear whored Baal
Tell us, tell us of Elijah
And the tree of suicide
Tell us, tell us of Elijah
And the god sacrificing children
Tell us, tell us of Elijah
And the bi-polar Israel
Tell us, tell them of Elijah
And Jacob’s back alley mugging
Tell, her, tell me of Elijah
Of god wrestling us in the back alley

Grey

2007-08-16T20:18:00.000-07:00

Today’s the day
What do you want to see?
Your white shoes
Turned to ash grey
Leaving footprints washed away

Today’s the day
What have you seen?
Your memories
Turned to ash grey
Leaving oblivion in place to stay

The chimney stacks smoking
With warmth inside
And hearts dying outside
With what they were hoping

The belly laughs deafening
With bloating inside
And hunger living outside
From children going into parent’s oblivion

Today’s the day
Where do you go from now?
With an empty soul
Turned to ash grey
With the your blanket frayed

And hearts gone innocent
And lord’s prayers fallen into scents
From gas leaking from soul’s forgotten rent
Making flames in an ugly light
Offering no comfort the fight
Of painless pain

2007-07-27T21:29:00.001-07:00

It is hard to sleep again. Maybe because I can't quite find a comfortable position with my shoulder, or that I stink from my worcestyshire sauce supper. But I want to mostly blame it on the humidity.
It just seems like I hear Mahler's "Ich bin von der Welt abhanden gekommen" in my head wherever I go. My intro is mostly lame, so I need to talk about mahler, something, someone, a thought to distract my mind from sleeplesness. or maybe just a mug of hot milk and honey.

He took a kitchen knife
and poked a kinch
into the tomatoe
probing for parasites
anyways
he felt that life we perceive
are polaroid snapshots
one at a time
developing the present
through the hard pressed memories
reacting to the emotion
of self awareness

Lovely how I can spit such redundant poetry into the space if my mind when my eyes are clogging with tiredness. And then there is always that presssure to include god somewhere here. but he isn't like that. if god was here, I wouldn't be real, or that is he would be talking to fake. not that I am wishing him away. its just I feel quite not adequate for the most sanctimonious abstract in all of man's conception. god is not even that. so how can I feel like this would be a right time for god to be in my polarois snapshot. in other words, how rude would that be?

2007-07-20T14:17:00.000-07:00

those mornings are the stranges occurances throughout the years, that cannot be described at beautiful or horrible, but as truth, since it pulls like a knot in my chest in the form of a shadow that I cannot grasp (like counting and forgetting a number), pulling the stings attached to my limbs through the will of something hidden inside of me, where I want to leave all behind, including my brown worn wallet, my dried hearding aids, and forget packing and start walking west towards plains to climb over the mountains into alaska, where I would hunt with a rifle and a knife to make living easier than in walmart, and laying on rocks and leaves would make no difference since sleep would only be missing that number I try to keep counting while I live here and now with my clothes on, working an honest living with a job that only is a job and school is only school, where the bed I sleep on is no more comfortable than the waking of the day, and god would is trapped in all of this inside of my introverted folded world, that world where I am naked and making no difference to myself with others, but for the bare life I have, that I am hiding.

Spitting on a page

2007-07-04T14:01:00.000-07:00

This is no poem entry. I just wanted to make the announcement that I received a letter the other work that one of my poems will be published in "Immortal Verses" by poetry.com .
I know the title of the collection is a little ostentatiously demanding, as well getting a poem published by poetry.com must have ment I sought some reward by posting my poems there. Well I jsut have to say whatever. Its a first step, even if my poem is being spitted on a page.
They are planning to publish the book this summer. So if you really care to spend ridiculous money on a ridiculous collection of poems by a ridiculous site, I am sure you can find it at their website.
take care friends, the few silent that actually read this.
Roy

Whisper carefully

2007-06-22T12:28:00.000-07:00

I’ll try to whisper this carefully
As I cry
About the lies

The world is drowning in sorrow
And she says she is fine
Waking up
Putting on her neat little dress
She knows nothing
Of the mess
She pays her tithe
In her smiles
Visiting the holy ghost
And the father who she loves most

The world is drowning in lies
And she says it is fine
Keeping the truth
In her bosom
Only to let people
Unlace the doors
On Sunday mornings
When the bells chime
There can’t be any other place or time

I try to whisper carefully
The cry
That are my lies
When will I give up
This idealism
That I dress up
As something that people can’t see
When I talk of it as my invisible friend
Next to me

I am drowning in the world of sorrow
Sitting on the fence of concentration
Knowing the hell of tomorrow
Receiving my eucharism
And my salvation
Either I work and lead the ladies
To the gas
Or I die in my life of lies
as the smell of corpses pass

I find myself
In love with her
Who undresses
For any ignorance for sure
Can’t I tear apart
My soul?
What kind of art
Is this ignorance?

I got me

2007-06-16T21:07:00.001-07:00

Calm down here
You seem to be clear
Like a soldier
Whose lost the hold on her
Take the cards
Lose your grip folder
Let the shards
Play life like a mess on the floor
Lay down your head now
lay your lips down
to the floor
kiss gravity
for the heavenly curse
that we are in between
the mess no one can see
in between the seas of fire and ice
where Moses, the money goat, leads us through
with a snake in his hand biting him to death
for me and you
to drown as the Egyptian Jews

calm down her
sensing senses lost
sensing fences tearing us in half
the one we crossed in birth
soul depart
wool sheered aloof
like absent minded dreadlocks
dragging dust mites
letting the bites
letting the bites

who would keep me here
where it has got to stop
waking any moment
to a drowsy sleep of pain
a maroon shadow
spreading fingers of smoke
up into my head
who would keep me here
where it has got to stop
this urge of nothingness
urge of something less
then what become a mess
of me
and my soul
of the sea
of my whole
bending knees
to prayers to the ground

why would god keep me
where it has got to start
with smiles and light
where I in myself
am running in circles
of my self
myself of selfishness
is my helplessness
where god keeps me

well at least
I still got me
To keep warm
Well is not deep
Enough to keep me thirsty
Well I still got me
To company
Even though two’s what is
And me is one to few
Well I still got me
To believe in
Even if that is that nothing
But an empty body
When my soul is haughty
Doubt in the gaudy of me
Well I still got me
To be
I still got me
To be a lie
I still got me
To be a sigh to me
I still got me
To be

Cariing to write

2007-06-15T05:44:00.000-07:00

Do you know that my fingers
Would be feathers tipped with ink
If I was a poet?

But my mind lies to myself
In ways that I can’t keep up
With the failures of lines and words
Like these

Do you know that ink
Fades anyway with the paper it stains
That then, only if my name was
Grooved in corroding stone
Perhaps I could make my words
last a few years longer
but even with the great classics
and the controversial 20s
words never burn a birth
of phoenix
but in someone else

no one’s words remain
but in the inspirations of someone else
because every stains meaning
only breathes as ghosts
in the hollows
of the owner’s grave

living now or living at all
makes me dig my own grave
with each thought
that meanings even start
hiding themselves to my own soul
that purpose starts fading into grey
doves fluttering in and out
that it only exists as the beauty
for moments when they hover above my head
when God proclaims
“this is my son”
what will I take to Hell
confused and lost like Ovid
tempting to forget why
I die to fight for my words
Someday the “so”, “that” and “and”
Will have more meaning
Then the words after
For continueing
May be the only sense
In all of this

Individuality

2007-06-10T14:34:00.000-07:00

I am walking with passing days
Like a million shadows come to stay
I am walking with my passing ways
Having grown less life than decay

My fingernails are scratching at wounds
That I keep breathing and treating with salt
Because of my own stirring of the dust
When I try to run from my own trailing gust

Take my life away
If I am deserving
Then also take my earth
Where I have stepped
I planted choking weeds of indignation

The gravestones around mine
Play pride and believe to be in rest
Next to each other
As we all sleep lifeless
As if that is silence and comfort
To not be able to stir my bones
And scratch the weeds out of my ribcage

That doesn’t even make life easier
To know that I can chose not to stamp myself with death’s seeds
That I could not hide under cover’s with her
That I could not drink bottles empty of life
But full of sticky unconsciousness
Or maybe full of unconscience
Because either way I am deciding
Always a life for someone
and a life against someone
while everyone else is playing hangman
haphazardly for some man
or their own man

Then of course
We all our hiding behind window blinds
And only stripes of light and shade
Pass onto our dead skins
My thoughts wonder that
Really then maybe right and wrong
Are just the black and white on a zebra
Racing into the lion’s jaws
Asking me that I can only submit to his devouring grace
That death comes either away
And choice is just the skin on my soul

Then again skinning my own hide
To pay for the colours I decide
And the black stripes I wear
Would seem a bit cold for me in this world
And my soul could not be contained to the privacy
Of my individuality

Prologue to "of Widows and Ravens"

2007-05-25T13:37:00.000-07:00

I am reading John and of the word
And light

What can I not fathom
Every time I read it over
It is plain but beyond my comprehension
This infinity of being
It is existence before essence
But a thing unraveled in
Webs that are straight
And spiraled in directions
That are beyond my
Life of darkness and light
All that remains to understand is that He is.
Like a rock
We may make suggestions as to its
Components and age and its origins
That is all I can say of myself
That it is natural for me to
Deny anything beyond the rock

Of Widows and Ravens

2007-05-25T13:33:00.000-07:00

“he did not fail to confess
but confessed freely”

It takes God to tire even a prophet
To tempting sleeps of suicide in the shade
Of a desert’s tree
And here God answers in a dark way
Giving the prophet’s doubts only rest when ravens
Carry bread and meat on their black wings
And when this fails
God makes it hard on a widow to
Feed God’s broken man in place of her child
And only raging frustrating pleas turns the ear of God
To breathe life again
- so if that is the only blessing
to live in the shadows of ravens’ wings
and the ravenous hunger of a famine
bringing death to children, when serving Him
- then life is something taken for granted
even if God is a liar
because his broken men still fear death
and the soul of a nation is still bent crooked
from a blind king that only sees mirrors
as of the kings to everyone’s own soul today

Bruised and Crack

2007-05-17T20:21:00.000-07:00

When I was a young girl
You had me wear skirts
When I was a young girl
You made me love you
When I was a young girl
You love me back
When I was a young girl
You left my body bruised and cracked

Now that I am older
I see what I’ve gone through
Now that I am older
You made me hate you
Now that you’re sorry
I’ve never seen you caring to tear
Now that you’re sorry
You’ve made your own heart tear

Jesus Christ

2007-05-17T20:19:00.000-07:00

Your words are still spinning in my veins
That’s how I am driving in a straight lane
To Colorado from Michigan
And I knew you could never have a straight life

There isn’t really much you can do about it
Every body wanting to turn their own ways
So that the path you take will never be straight
Unless you end it with roman razors and a warm water bath

Justice

2007-05-06T11:08:00.000-07:00

ages of love
have gone unnoticed
in the clamor and chaos of hatred

there are souls that mount their shadows
above those that shine truth
that it seems light is something always flickering in the distance
and the wings of darkness
harness
layers of the skin of love
burning and lashing away at it
hoping that it will never be blinded by it

but even in the deepest artichoke
there is a core
of nothingness
that no shadow or black fire can contain for destruction
it is the dream of an allegory
of forms
where the sun casts the shadows in bowing obedience to the edges of light
defining the sake of goodness
not the other way around

but dreams usually remain dreams
where you can muse about it with every sip of wine
until the bottle is empty
and sleep ushers you back into reality
of death

Million

2007-05-06T11:07:00.000-07:00

A million holes a million
Around me in the air
Pockets of air seething in the game
The more I , the more
This troubled lazy light
This is not white, not white

I try to whisper carefully
For these things are fundamentally
If they were heard, if they were
People longing, would be groaning
Truth is death, and that truth is dead
And people hiding it
Underneath layers of a artichoke hearts
Pealing away, pealing
Eternally, fundamentally, carefully

An evening in the Library

2007-05-05T17:10:00.001-07:00

scrounging sun
on the desk and bag
in the library study room
evening settles as cars become slower, fewer and louder
and breezes come into the window
that brush goose bumps against my bare skin
and the mind is grounding ideas slowly, grounding slowly

justice is the incapability of man
justice is the brother of altruism
too long did I believe that justice was capable
as the infidel of altruism

The Noble Savage's Family

2007-05-01T19:03:00.000-07:00

I read about a man
who was begrieved,
that he did not know who his biological parents were.
In his sorrow,
he a sung the song of the noble savage.
How he nourishes himself
from carbons, proteins and vitamins of the earth,
taking yeast and meat,
grinding them in his stomach and intestines
to chemistry that his body potentializes into physics
moving his muscles into swaying exasperations of life,
by which he breathed oxygens,
that are miniscule phantasmogorical suns of burning energy,
calculating thoughts with electrons
and ions colliding between neurons
blurting the vocal cords with wind
into words and grammar of the equation
balanced in the brain
and little sperms growing
from the lipids and hormones
darting to acupuncture an ovary,
and the jackpot conceptualizes
the conception of a beating being with a DNA
to encode a secret line of amino acids,
the enigma
that he can call his personalized biological child,
and while this child grows,
he decays into ashes, bones and shit
which is licked by worms, bugs and germs,
making themselves a feast for trees
that can breathe through stomata,
making the sour carbon and oxygen
into sweet sugar,
to unfold the threaded beauty of flowers,
clumping themselves as fruits to the ground,
gnawed and crunched through the jaws of rodents,
and the beaks of birds,
that shit and die in a cycling spiral,
from an evolution of life defined
by the natural laws of chemistry, physics and biology,
back to a banging breath of a god,
in which all matter was made
to the planets and stars,
suns and rocks,
oceans and atmospheric skies.
In which this noble savage finds
his connected parents brothers
and sisters, cousins
and aunts and uncles,
the grandparents
living under that ozone
blasted by sunrays into oxygen,
and that carbon burning to components for anyone to use,
like a free for all well fare of nature.
and water , moving, freezing and making an exasperating move of escape through evaporating
It seems that his ghost in his machine,
is merely a breath of an accident,
in which only the closest cycle will relate love, and hate through
Parents and their children.
Really only seem to be an assigned meaning by some irrational subconscious of matter

The Devil's Tree

2007-05-01T18:59:00.000-07:00

Kid sitting in the cubicle
Walls full of holes
Calls full of ghosts
With his hand glued to the clacking
On the keyboard
“love you more than you know”
parents so far wayward
how long can he go
without the sunshine in here
without the sunshine from home

walking, walking
down, down, down
I thought I see these days not until further away
I am so sorry
I guess, so sorry!
That I have forgotten my mothers sleep gown
Down, down, down
Walking, walking

I was walking somber streets
With souls sliding beneath my feet
I was looking for the devil’s tree
Because I chant a cantus that makes me free
As my eyes glide beneath the leaves
I wonder how my soul pursues and how it grieves

There will be spirals
Reaching out to the corners of mirrors
Of reflection of reflection
Coming down, coming down, down, down
To the devil’s tree
In spirals

I was waking in somber fleets
Of souls sliding down into seats
I was wondering about the devil’s tree
Gnarled growls grumbling groaning to be free
Chanting a cantus, losing it through a sieve
There is an essence of life left,, that I live

There will be spirals
Reaching out to the corners of mirrors
Of confessions, of confessions
Coming down, coming down, down, down
To the dead dead tree
as infecting gyres

3:13 am

2007-05-01T18:57:00.001-07:00

3:13 am
is the time of
contentment or discontentment
feeling the beat of your life
it is now
with the drag
of the cigarette
that you either like
the beat of your life
or not
now your
decisions
shake a rhythm of fear
or love or joy or
hatred
in your bones
like the soul
- or rather it is
that it robs your body
21 grams
at the point of death
-
and so I ask
what have I robbed my soul of
at the point of birth

Silenced Love

2007-05-01T18:56:00.000-07:00

I wish I didn't recognize
the deepest ideas in my soul
I wish they were buried
like cursed treasures beneath scorching sand
I wish I could just wander the surface of the sahara
run ans die and dry and thirst
and never find out
that responsibility
is a thing that is farther than my legs can carry me
a thing wider than my arms can hug
that I slip into lazyness
that my eyes
see sandstorms and hazyness
that my skies
are dark with slyness
God writing crumpled papers
tossing them behind is back
disgruntled, blowing these winds in my face
I love and love and love myself
to try and love and love and love another self

love, coming away
it will leave
because I want to stay
here in a starry night
and heave
with a breath that i breathe
to bring the stars to shine
fanning each little spark in the sky

because if love leaves
then I can uncover my soul
from winter worn leafes
where underneath a truer path
has been hibernating
awaiting
to awaken
like a burly bear
king of the northern lands
where his paws wouldn't burn
on scorch hot sands
like the words of
those who fell in the love of the south
(where all love is only love for their own house)

yeah, yeah, I want to be
in a way
that in a way
that somehow without love
is love
that somehow
words aren't words
since somehow
grace is grace
and everything I do
everything I love
is only a love of myself
so that I want it to leave
because I want to stay
in the day
of my soul
that somehow God is God
and that is love
removed from my cousin
like flourishing resin
It oozes in clarity
in a summer of the north

and I don't want to love
because that is love
and I don't want to live
because that is life
and I don't want to believe
because that is faith
and I don't want to breathe
because that is breath

(only when you know that you have a shadow, can you hide it and run from it.)

come on out here
waiting for me
come on outwear
waiting for love
common you swear
waiting too long
mine and yours wait
wander in hate
mine and yours wait
wander too late
I need more than
I need to leave
these things behind
these things are blind
to myself and
to myself and
god himself and
to myself and
to myself and
god himself and
to myself and
to myself and
god himself and
starting again

am I gone away
am writing astray?
am I need this way
words crumble
sentence
am i need this be this blessing see
this way we need to be
this way i see
in darker
shadows
that I see and hide
wide and and and I lied

oh come on hate!
you are LOVE!
you are what I hate
because and and and
I need to
you forget to
they tell me to
he wants to
she wishes to
but and and and

(breathe
breathe

breathe
breathe)
....

eyelids
heavy
with a sleep so damn long
they open
and eyes hurt to see for the first time
this seeing
like light
coming
into
my mind
in the form
of physical pinnacles
probing
my brain
to consciousness
and it is funny that the first awareness is body
and not thought
that I think
that makes me exist
my first awareness is this fresh flesh
that will die in hundred years
or tomorrow
but this is being awake for today
for now

The Room

2007-05-01T18:54:00.000-07:00

I
Here
When I was a child –
But I am here now
When the tears are at the brim
To never spill over for relief
This is the agony I will tell about

II
There was a sunshine of simple glory
With shades dancing in compromise
Casting away their own evil from light
And there were my bare feet
And hers
Walking among the shadow dances
Glimpsing this light as the thing we have in common
To find it
When we do, I put my hand on her shoulder blade
Feeling her smooth skin
The blood flowing out of her marrow through the cracks of the bones
And to her lips to mine
With the light dancing our shadows into a compromise
With our own evil cast behind us

This knot in my chest
The dark nothingness pulling my eyelids apart
To see the dream dissolve into my own musty room
Like the dusted books on my shelf

III
There were the candles’ simple glory
With shades of light (colours) in our faces
Casting our isolation into the dark night
With light creating a filling hollow for community
And there were my hands on the mug
And theirs
Lighting out conversation to a bigger capacity of love
Glimpsing this as this thing we have in common
To find it
When we do, we write, paint and sing
Of a community
The blood flowing from the cracks of our veins into the cracks of the lightless
Back to ours and His
With shades of light in our faces
Casting our isolations into the dark night

And this murmur in my chest
The darkest whisper pulling my eyelids apart
To see the dream dissolve in my musty room
Like the forgotten letters in the shoebox

IV
There was the old heavy sun in its simple glory
With shades bowing down in long lines
Transforming sin to a death for prayer
And there was my house
And a rocky beach
With the silently lapping water in a dying vital coldness
Glimpsing the life I’ve chopped for the fire
To have found it
And when I do, in my old grey days
Of solitude
The blood flowing from the cracks of my life and fire
To the cold water
With shades bowing down in long lines
Making my sin into a death for prayer

And this tremor in my chest
The intelligible hands pulling my eyelids apart
To see the dreams escape through my windows
Like I have been trapped in this musty room

V
The cracks in my bones grow
And the marrow of patience
Slips away
The cracks in my veins grow
And the blood of my love
Slips away
The cracks in my life and fire
And the salvation of my soul
Slips away

VI
Staring through the windows
Seeing my dreams dance in wild evolution and revolution
And freedom of
And myself here
Staring at the mirror
Seeing my lazy whiskers and strangled hair underneath my hat

With my hollow mind and body
In a room I cant let myself out of
The desiring pain when looking
Through the window
Make me feel lifeless and barren
Here
Not when I was a child
But where I am now
Where tears are at the brim
Never to be spilled over for relief
This is the agony I can never tell about

Becoming Numb

2007-05-01T18:47:00.000-07:00

so this is the end of the year
and goodbys will be the only thing I never have to take leave of.
scraping the crust more and more
till I found that maybe I overbaked myself
and nothing is left but the crumbs for the dogs.
the darkest country road
is trying to blossom in memory
but my passenger seat
only holds a window
that shows slow moving blurr
can I come to this inbetween
stars and starvations
can I come to this meanwhile
cars and carnations
are bombing my soul to numbed tears
no simple school shooting that rocks me
everyday awake
everyday I am raped
everyday it takes
me away