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

-4.2010



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.

-4.21.11

the lost element

and
damaged
hollow bodied truths
broken
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

-11.3.10.facebook

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

-1.10.11.facebook

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?

(11.01.10)

Sunday, May 1, 2011

windows

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

(10.28.10)