Friday, September 2, 2011

head cold romanticism

you thought i was lying when i said i'd come back for you
as if i could forget
how we laughed over champagne
while love hid on the other side of the street with broken fingers
i guess i always thought you knew
knew everything about me just by looking in your head
i guess i always thought you had everything in there

to me the epic moment
was the toast that broke both our glasses
just as night began to birth itself
after making love to day in the pool
to me that was the moment that said
this is the epitome of all things
this is what life exists for

though my body wanders through acres of circumstance
my spirit always watches from well within the trees
communing with beasts and shadow
waiting for your word to bring me forth
waiting for whatever we chase to come
waiting for whatever we ignore to go

you thought i was lying when i said i'd come back for you
when it may very well be the only true words ever uttered

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

$8 wine

who did we think we were
treading across night like we owned the place
waging emotional battles with no war paint
our words drifting to the earth like feathers?
the first salvation ever found
was in a bottle of $8 wine
we drank it straight from the bottle
the tides left without us
we glided upon the grass
and the moon danced with us
the type of dance that lasts forever in the soul

what did we think we could do
keep the grass warm forever
keep the icy weave of sky above us
and never return to the modern world?
we can cleanse ourselves with smoke
but all the cigarettes on earth can't keep dawn away
and we can bathe ourselves in time
but it'll never wash away the scars on our feet
because we danced, my friend, oh how we danced

Sunday, July 31, 2011

glimpse of a song from another life

a little rhyme i was singing to some random tune in my head at work last night:

if looks could kill, she'd be a tiger
she'll eat your heart before she blinks
as she recites the words of wisdom
smeared in red above the sink
in her dreams she is a diamond
breaking skin and breaking through
but in her words she is a symptom
so what are we to do?

Thursday, July 14, 2011

i dreamed of this

i saved that for me and me alone
put it in a place where no-one else could touch it ever
tired of crooked words and fingerprints of untruth

i put it in the same place
as all the things i don't say or cover up
all the words i delete when no-one's looking
everything that's really me and no-one knows

. . .

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

satisfaction in a pinprick

we're told to just distract it all away
let the song dissipate in the wind
and never call it back again
"that's what life is"
"that's what life is"
"that's what life is"
you hear it enough, and you believe it
even when the answer is "fuck you"
even when you know you've seen better
it's been miles since you've tasted that bliss

the allergens, the constant
fighting for something real
meaningless to those who've never clung to the mast
of ship drug by tentacle arms into a black sea
to a bottom of sand and sky
with palm trees waving in the current
bound and drugged into a false utopia

we stride among them
waving our arms and cursing
and laughing
"there's more to life," we say
"we've seen it"
"we've seen it"
"we've seen it"
but the proper thing's forgetfulness
the proper thing is apathy
and it's so easy to lose touch

when emptiness hardens in the mold
we don the weightless armor
and look to the sun with blinking incomprehension
like waking up to a forgotten dream

this, in its own way, is as beautiful a song

Sunday, June 19, 2011

collective unconscious

the swell of a nickname and a shuffle of thought
i need to find a place for these words, all that is hidden
it’s funny how they think the novocain will stop the blood
we can’t argue with
the romanticism
of stupidity

wings of glass, a broken touch
years run past the window of a moving car
life summoned to its point of no return
no ecstasy is found here, but
there’s no such thing as here

keep going, nothing to lose
the writing on my arm faded from washing
the words that kept me going faded from time
the passing year i beg not to be more proof of my failure

i want to reach out
to be a thing other than
a creature to numb the effects of the world
to move from my shadow

i still can’t decide what all of this is for


Wednesday, June 15, 2011

dream fragments

i remember more dream fragments lately than anything drawn out and elaborate, but here are some bits that interest me enough to write down:

* me and some friends sitting at a table at the last booth on one edge of a large bay. the booths were actually natural formations in the rock that people stuck tables in between for outdoor dining at the beach. before we could get a chance to order our food, a "volcano" errupted in the ocean behind me. it resembled a goldenish-brown mountain melting into the ocean, with chunks of it flying up into the air (not like real lava, but melty goldenish-brown pieces falling all around us). i wanted to stay and watch, because i'd never seen a volcano before, but my friends convinced me that the beach was being evacuated for a reason and i'd be able to watch from a safer spot.

* i was standing in line at a department store to buy a pet lizard. it was a baby lizard that looked just like the full grown lizards that occupy the gardens outside the buildings here (about the size of my middle finger). when i asked how big the lizard was going to grow, the cashier (a small young woman with pure white hair) went back into the pet department and brought up a turtle the size of two fists to show me. while i was waiting for her to come back, the lizard crawled into my hair and started purring.

* a black lab wearing a light on his head was leading two lost boys down a dark path. since i didn't know where i was supposed to be either, i followed, too. we were eventually on a boat that was taking us out to a larger ship. the two boys were nowhere to be seen, the dog had become Hallucination, and we were surrounded by sexy and scantily clad pirate women. i got jealous because the pirate women were prettier than me. as i was preparing to leave, Hallucination and the pirate woman he'd been making out with were looking at me not with anger or judgement, like i'd expected, but simple curiosity, and i realized there'd been some kind of communication error.

* i went to visit my old high school locker (one of my recurring dream symbols) and noticed that it had been left open, and anyone could have taken anything from it. as i looked through it, though, i realized no-one had. in this version of the locker dream, there were a lot more people around me also checking their lockers and there was also a lot more stuff inside my locker than usual. the girl whose locker was next to mine was watching me with an appraising look (which appeared to be on and off disgust and approval) as i sorted through what was in the locker and threw away all of the garbage i'd been storing (which was a lot). there were also good things in the locker, though, like chocolate, that i uncovered when throwing away the garbage.

have i mentioned that sometimes i think my locker in my dreams represents my soul?

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

pathos for pathos

in the dark, we wait like lions
song-chilled all the way through
seeking meaning where there is none
making religion from stone and yarn
scraping fingertips on fences
drawing runes in the dust

something inside us screams
there must be a method, a pattern, a reason
for all of this
for the grating sound we don't realize
is our own fingernails on empty slates

hopelessness is terror
hopelessness is freedom
it's not a sickness, it's a phase
an exercise in the logic of luck
a study in the origins of belief

we find our reality in the rainfall on windshields
in the undercurrents of light and sound
a scrapbook and a bottle of vodka
we find our reality in blood drops on paper
spreading into tiny flowers before our eyes
and in our fear, we forget to be afraid
in our hopelessness, we're driven by hope
because in the dark, we wait
we wait like lions

Sunday, June 12, 2011

invalid subject line

the sky screams silver
in its high pitched rage dream
it's that time again
it's normal, it passes

where the footprints stop at nothing
you can almost see the light
that used to warm the earth here
before time withered to
it's mesh of crushed leaves and silence

so when you ask yourself tomorrow
under a reckless sense of
charmed discouragement
that the machine ate through your eyes
remember one lie can drown the sun

i'm sorry

-4.8.10, myspace

Saturday, June 11, 2011

things in water

top four pictures: St. Mary's River downstream of Locks, Sault Ste. Marie, MI:

photo from Ellwood Beach, Goleta, CA, 2010:

Thursday, June 9, 2011

estimated cost

this chill brings me back to a time of naivety
when we thought as long as we stayed true to ourselves we would never become monsters
and assumed the line between self worth and hypocrisy would always be clear
when all the things we didn't understand were phantoms
creatures of the shadows that would never touch us

sorrowful how these things creep up
weeds snaking gently under the skin
winding their way up bone and sinew
shedding seeds in our brains, the eggs of an alien species
i think they first get in under our fingernails
transmitted from the shaking of hands
"good day to you, kind sir,
i've no defenses from your influence
and only hope it might not destroy me"

this chill brings me back to a time much colder
when frozen as we might have been, we never thought we'd sell ourselves for warmth
didn't realize yet there's no such thing
as a line that can't be crossed
that the ideal environment for phantom larvae
was the rich blood of our very desires

we thought it would be easy to "never be like that"
when in reality, it's so much easier to dismiss certain moralities
so easy the action is often unconscious
but who are we, anyway, to say what's right and wrong?

who are we?


Wednesday, June 8, 2011

closer than you think

the things you need can also be the things you want
unlock the freedom
to start your day
after years of striving to make the most of every choice
you might be exotic
looking for people to write
to shape each issue of rain honestly
but you can give us something just as beautiful
every night before you go to bed you bake smiles in the woods
today i am more than just technology
i learned this from your sight
i kept hearing people say
possible side effects of living
and i honestly didn't think i would ever trust
halfway through efficiency most demanding i got tired
you carried me home
intensive repair
32 feet and 13 hours after and still i'm not ready
i can't believe how you can see through my skin
stay dry during downpours
rescue opinions from winter damage
your ingenuity yields a restoring shine
you can draw a map to every warm morning

jan 27 2010 (magazine clippings)

Friday, June 3, 2011

this isn't new

this isn't new
we're rewriting the words to
a song we've sang a hundred times before
of a place lost to time
free from consequence
with dusty floors and
slivered window panes
with dreams that wait for us while we're not there
and let us search in the remains
of a thousand years of news
to find the scrap of paper that makes sense
just to us
just this time

this isn't new, but it's ours


breath of autumn

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

a soothing metaphor

looking for bittersweet resolution
to something that never began
i entered into the palace of the traitor to make wine
which i drank for the taste
though it left me hot with rage
seeking someone to help me in all the wrong ways
losing respect for those
who lack the corruption of my daydreams
sinking in and lashing out
in and out
in and out
the motion of the confused, the damned
as i create
another soothing metaphor for my behaviour
a way to make myself make sense
and pretend that no-one's been used
or that all we do is use each other
every person, every day
so it's okay

i could always deprive myself to depravity
so the next time you see me
i'm sucking needles through a straw
just to see if you'd pretend it's only water
and every time my mind screamed
i'd throw blame at you
little needle ice cubes you could pretend did not exist
take another sip and repeat
over and over until you couldn't take anymore
but never would you try to understand
i'm just part of your collection of lost souls
you use me just as i use you
but i'm the one left unsatisfied


an imaginary glass of wine

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

it's true she can't rhyme

wake me up for the final show
before then it's not enough to know
read between skies of redemption
smoke only helps with prevention

it doesn't matter what kind of person i am
as long as i look good in a picture
it doesn't matter what you wanted from this
find the answers in song as we sit here
the burns on the paper are one thing
wake me up when you're onto something

i'm getting bored with your plastic condition
getting tired of your tactile submissions

don't expect so much from me
there's always more we fail to see
this landscape shrouded
glossy whispers unfounded
in time lapse photography
don't expect so much from me

i'm getting bored with your thoughtless designs
never meshed with my victimless crimes

it doesn't matter what kind of person i am
as long as i look good in a picture
all the things that you thought you would find
are just pages torn from your scripture
paint chips in your cup of obsession
to fuel this reckless transgression

wake me up for the final song
just promise it won't take too long
dreams cannot teach you to fly
the dust on the pane spells goodbye

if anyone asks you later
in tangible incinerator
you'll say it's true she can't
swim the blackout of time
you'll say it's true she can't
it's true she can't rhyme


light wine

wine and music (edited photo), Sault Ste. Marie, 2009

wine at sunset, Zim's Bar, Sault Ste. Marie, 2010

wine reflections, Sault Ste. Marie, 2010

(from observing this post, one might get the impression that i drank a lot of wine in Sault Ste. Marie)

all of it

as i tiptoed through the wreckage
and danced with skeletons on the beach
i saw before me a path made of nothing
and everything
the kind of path we often see
and shrug
and say "i'll come back later
i'll walk there next time"
with no clue when "next time" will be
only a raw certainty there will, in fact, be one

this time i went to it
and walked to the place that was nowhere
and everywhere
past the forgotten songs of children
who dream they are seals or swans
searching ashes every night for their skins
past the unconscious barriers
that would tell me whether or not i am one of them
that would categorize me as seal, swan, or delusional
and met the sun-haired man

this time, he was waiting in an old fort
and noted me with an element of surprise
i'd seen him before, yes, but not like this
"how much control do you want?" he asked
"how much control should i try to have?"
"you know the answer."
"all of it." i said
"i'm a god, you know." he said.
"i know."
"i'm inside all of them."
i nodded
for the first time, understanding

there is no logic in the way we hold ourselves back
no reason we are always afraid
the repression of our spirits is the one true sin
i think god wanted eve to eat the apple

Friday, May 27, 2011

we're born and we die, multiple times in the same life

she was once an orange flower. those were simpler times. when all there was was love, however unrequited. she grew and bloomed, opened to the sun, died and fell to seed, and grew again. and that's all there was to think about. the only thing that mattered.

this was a time when the words that fell fell on paper. things were created. poetry. pictures. beauty. madness. she could've stayed here forever. but then, she couldn't, could she? the sun was warm, and the rain was cool. that's what she remembers.

she was once a shot of whiskey. liberating, but not quite fascinating. she could fill you up and make you whole, but there was only so much that you could take. one does not, afterall, spend one's entire life drunk.

it took a while for her to realize that. by that time she'd become comfortable again, thought she'd found where she belonged. she was alive, she was the wind, and all she knew was freedom. that was all that mattered. all that she saw. it hurt to go.

now, she is something else. something she doesn't know yet. she's wondering if she'll look back at this the same way someday.

she might be emptiness. she might be the hole in a sock. she might be a puzzle that's always missing a piece. or she might be the piece that you're missing.

whatever the case. there's no more room. for making shit up.

and whatever the case. there's no chance that you could ever harm her.

she's already been born. she's already died. more times than you will ever see.


the lost element

hollow bodied truths
crumbling into nothing
rusted into powder and swept away

pretty soon i won't remember you
as the gold of the sun's rays
piercing through rainclouds and dancing under water
pretty soon i won't remember you
as the resolution to a lifelong dream
glimpsed as a fragment of lost meaning from another song

pretty soon i'll remember you
the way i remember everything else
as a photograph i took long ago and don't remember why

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

driving through storms

rain in Texas, October 2008

snow in Michigan, May 2009

sand in Arizona, December 2009

to someone i haven't thought of in a while

as if the color of the walls could make a difference
in the patterns of the smoke
you read along by yourself with everyone watching
and no-one seeing

some times i think of how
on my way to meet you
i had such high hopes
hopes so high i, in fact, ignored them
only as open or closed as the next person
no more or less present than the ceiling

i could have made something there
i thought you were perfect
you thought there was something wrong with me


Friday, May 20, 2011

grocery shopping

stopping well and starting again
chamomile tea is a good substitute
for love, sanity, and all things vague
stopping over and starting begins
in fields of signs on grocery store walls
to find meaning, to find a song
and phone calls unreceived from the other side of time
the speaker's broken, caller's asleep
static rules with a plastic fist
stopping blanks and starting wins
flashes out with certain uncertainty
pauses down the isle and
the cart is empty


Monday, May 2, 2011

what we learned in outer space (paintings vs. unnecessary setbacks)

alcohol is a vice. beauty is a vice. cigarettes are a vice. truth is a vice. meaning is a vice. i no longer know the literal definition of the word vice. i could look it up in the dictionary, but right now it’s more important that i don’t know it. it gives me something to say, something to melt my case upon for onlookers breathing in plastic to smile. life. itself. is a vice.

on any true path to progress, the progress itself is seen as not worth mentioning. if i am now a pengin, i do not want to be remembered as a cushion. that is behind me. that is gone. therefore it is nothing.

i do not want to be remembered, thought of. i do not want to be known.

i do not want people to look at me and think things, positive or negative, that are not in direct relation to that which is before them at that exact moment. thoughts, voiced or unvoiced, not pertaining to the present are made up mostly of lies.

(02.28.08, myspace)

midland area lusk possession

everybody in the midland area had the following two items because during the Great Depression the goverment payed each household $100 to convert their dressers into toilets (i don't remember the name of this one) and to convert their chairs into lusks.

a lusk (as quoted almost exactly from the documentary i was listening to in my dream) was "an author's idea for turning a portable chair into a tv that swiveled around to a bookshelf on the other side, in order to see whether people read more books or watched more tv, by observing which side was facing out more".

this was like a television documentary, except that it wasn't on tv. it was playing in my head to educate me about the midland area because i was there to visit a friend of mine. at the time, i was helping to serve things at some kind of outdoor party, and when i got to the table of the guy i was there to see, someone at his table mentioned something about mirrors being drawn to him.

(05.20.08, myspace)

waking up

moments like this tend to shove themselves in
a railroad spike into the subconscious
a surge of vivacious calm

when i wake up and see
that the mind's made itself up
with little or no effort on my part
all i can do is play along and enjoy the ride

moments like this tend to shout through walls
and the comforting illusion of time out of context

it's a truth that says to me:
there, now do you finally have it?
now do you finally understand
the difference between reality?


Sunday, May 1, 2011


landing in Phoenix, AZ, 2009

leak in Merril, MI 2007

every time i look at this picture i think it's a filmstrip, Tucson, AZ 2009

ice and cracks on windshield forming cat face, Sault Ste. Marie, MI 2009

sunrise in Sault Ste. Marie, MI 2010

certain days

strange how it appears now
see how this has waned
the dream once full
then lost
now only glimpsed in triggers
places once felt
words once quieted

on certain days
it's okay to embrace
certain songs
the way we knew them before


Sunday, April 24, 2011

dreams: a recurring mysterious soul mate/guide


i don't remember much of the setting, besides the tower. i don't remember what we had set out to do or why or who was watching.

but i remember hearing "dirty mind" by The Miller Stain Limit. and i remember that the sand in my shoes somehow symbolized a feeling of dependence on you, and when i shook the sand out, everything was harder.

let me try to put these things in order:

i climbed to the top of a tower, flawlessly, effortlessly. on the top was a different plane. i was walking up the grassy slope at trout lake with someone. with each step i became more aware of the sand in my shoes. the amount may have been steadily increasing.

as i took off the shoes to shake the sand out, i realized the sand was my feelings of needing you. i worried for a moment about what shaking it out might do, but did it anyway.

instantly i noticed that there was no arch support in my shoes. the sand had provided a nice cushiness that made it easier to walk. oh well, no matter. i'd get used to walking without it sooner or later.

but when i approached the tower i felt my first sense of fear. suddenly it occured to me that the tower was really high and if i slipped i could die. and i worried because i knew the bars of the ladder would feel different without the sand in my shoes.

(this is the part where it gets confusing)

somehow, climbing up or down this tower was a part of some built in connection between us. the ladder didn't quite go close enough to the ground to let us fall without getting hurt, or reach it on our own to climb up. whenever one of us was climbing the tower, no matter where the other person was, part of your/my soul was there to make up for the missing segment of ladder.

i climbed down first, and i felt guilty at the bottom, where i was clinging to you to make my way down the last few feet before i could safely drop. i worried that i might be hurting you, and i always thought that maybe i should let go sooner, and risk personal injury, to keep you from pain. but i always consoled myself by acknowledging that i provided the same service to you and it never seemed to do me any harm.

(and here it gets weird)

as i started climbing down the tower, "dirty mind" by The Miller Stain Limit started playing (my absolute favorite song, which i've always wanted to make a video for). as i was climbing down this tower, i was being watched by the people on the ground below, and also being filmed as a music video for this song.

when it was your turn to climb down, you did something at the top of the tower that made video footage of you as a little kid going around destroying things replace the view of your climbing. i didn't know how you'd done this. i was quite impressed and worried that you'd be disappointed in me for not having thought of something like that.

as everyone watched and enjoyed your video, i looked forward to the moment you'd join me at the bottom of the tower. i looked forward to seeing you again, because i'd apparently missed you. and i looked forward to the others seeing what an interesting person i was connected to, when they saw us together and realized you were the guy who made the video.

but i also feared our time was coming to and end. it was a fear i knew i wouldn't have thought to have had i not removed the sand from my shoes. but it was a fear i was glad to have, because it only seemed fair. it would have been selfish to stay dependent on you once i realized that i was.

so i knew i did not need you nor you me. and i worried about the pain i might have caused you in the climb. and i realized that if you were disappointed in my lack of creativity when the video started being made, it was only because you deserved someone better.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

exquisite (option 6)

(facebook notes. 1.11.11)

be that as it may, there are still a few things i'd like point out.

first, needle-nose pliers resemble neither a needle nor a nose, and would more aptly be called "does anybody have anything i can grip this joint with" pliers.

secondly, i think i'm missing something

three, the idea of cohesion between paragraphs resulting from a similarity of structure is flower.

5. do you know what it is?

4. when people hear words like this, they assume the speaker must be high. high means uninhibited. is there a problem with being uninhibited within our normal states of mind, or must we seek being high for social acceptance of our thought patterns?

seven ate 9: at an early age, humans learn to find carelessness joyful, as carelessness is thought of as a mark of being privileged. we learn to throw ourselves all over everything, but we never learn to say what we mean.

some people will only listen to me if they think i am under the influence. others will only listen if they think i'm not. (i'm not, btw.) who decides just when a person should be listened to?

number out of sequence - in conclusion, see previous statement

this list has been brought to you by "exquisite (option 6)". please note: there is no number 6 in this list.

when i came to my notes, i wanted to write "exquisite (option 7)," but i realized there wasn't a 6 yet. you are to interpret that 6 is the text missing from this list.

k thx bai ^_^

dreams: back in time, in another universe


i was 18, but i'd already been working at some interesting job. i was a character of my own design, and this was a universe in which people generally believed in me and trusted my decisions. my hair was long and curly, like Daine's in "The Immortals Quartet." i was very pretty and capable.

my friend (who first appeared as my a guy i know named Tyler) and I were sitting on the hill outside my parents house (a large plot of land with lots of people congregating on it for various purposes) talking, and we decided to run away together. whatever his lot was in this universe, it wasn't nice like mine.

as we were inside the trailor, getting ready to leave, my mom (some eccentric dark-haired lady) came in with Inara from Firefly, her close friend and advisor. i feared they might try to talk us out of going, but instead they began packing us some snack food we could eat on our trip, mostly cheese and crackers and chocolate.

the friend i was running away with (now a girl i used to know named Haley) asked if we were going "into town," meaning the more residential part of ssm, or traverse city. i told her we were getting on I-75, heading south, and stopping when we felt like we should. (i had Arizona in mind, a little, when i said this, because i remembered everything from my life in this universe, so i had a huge advantage, knowing that it was in fact possible to drive to another city without a plan and find a job and a place to live, because i'd done it before, and i also knew my way around certain places, even if i'd never been there in the current life.)

we stopped around Petosky, and my friend (now Lioness) and i got out to ask directions at a store we saw a few people leaving, up this dark flight of stairs. they held the door for us as we approached, so we didn't see what was on the outside of the door. but i saw a vision of the door in my mind's eye as it closed (how sometimes in dreams you're standing where you just were, watching yourself move on like you're watching a movie) and realized we had just entered a porn shop.

of course, as we looked around it became pretty obvious it was a porn shop, anyway. Lioness started flicking the dildos by the counter to watch them wobble. the clerk glared at me and asked me what i wanted and then asked Lioness if she was even old enough to be there. i told him we just needed directions, though i had no idea in my mind of where we were asking directions to. the guy made some mention of how we and the people before us must be really stupid to come in and ask directions when there's a compass just down the street. (i thought "well if we're not from around here, how would we have known about the compass down the street?" but i didn't interupt, because he'd started giving directions.)

he said we were in the part urban part rural section of town, and we had to go to the real urban industrial section of town to find the place we were looking for. (he even told us what the place we were looking for was.) it was a coffee shop, and he praised the owner as being a really great guy, said his name was Trent Reznor.

Lioness and I left excited. somehow, at this point, we both new we were in an alternate universe, one where Trent Reznor wasn't famous yet, and the thought of meeting him before he became famous was rather enthralling. "we can get jobs working at his coffee shop!" i exclaimed. Lioness gave me a look that said she had other things in mind for young Trent Reznor. i corrected myself. "I can get a job working at his coffee shop! And you can do . . . well, you know, whatever."

then we walked into a party in ssm with all our friends in it. (i'm not quite sure how we ended up at a party in ssm. possibly we knew how to use portals.) Lioness wanted to tell them the news, but my mind was on hurrying up so we could get back to our journey to Trent Reznor's coffee shop. afterall, we'd left the car parked in front of a porn shop in petosky.

Mackinac Bridge

from a window in the Old Mackinac Lighthouse

through a knot on the beach of Mackinac Island

through a Mackinac Island ferry window

Thursday, April 21, 2011

we can walk away

this is normal
the half-sung melody stopped on cracked lips
humanity bled and castrated
forced to act until it's
forced to think until it's
forced to feel
until it can be forced no more
the subtle rape over decades
taken on in suffocating calm
once you lose an ear, what's an eye?
once you lose an eye, what's a tongue?

there will come a time
we may not live to see
when all of this will stop
and only those incapable
or showing blatant disregard
will be survivors
there will come a time
when being passive will mean
neglecting our human needs
as opposed to our animal ones
a peaceful revolution in which
we realize we don't need this system to survive
and we turn a blind eye
to the struggles
of those who've turned a blind eye to ours for so long

you will be forgotten
the moment we've formed defenses
against the weapons you wield

you won't be forgiven
when all there's left to do
is turn away in silence

dreams: green skin


i was sitting at a bar when i noticed a hard green lump on the back of my left hand, about the size and shape of a mosquito bite in the center, with trails of green spreading across the rest of my hand. i asked the people around me if they new what it was.

turns out i was poisoned by a shard of metal from the junkyard, which made me suspect that the person next to me, a friend in the dream, had accidently jabbed me with the shard when he touched me earlier.

the nice bartender woman used scissors to cut the skin of my hand into liftable flaps so she could insert little plastic packets to suck the poison out. it was a peculiar process. three cuts of about an inch or so in different directions. i wasn't sure why the poisoned blood had to be sucked into plastic packets or why the bartender put a piece of cloth bandage on my hand underneath a triangle flap of skin, instead of over the cuts. i worred the skin was going to die if left like that, but i couldn't get her attention to ask when i was supposed to take it off.

what the poison does is make you turn green and eventually hardens your flesh. when i looked it up on the internet later, i realized that after a certain point in the spread of the poison, the doctor's advice becomes "lie down and spend the night thinking about your life, because for you there is no tomorrow." once your heart and lungs turn green, it's only a matter or hours before they harden and you die.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011