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


-11-24-06

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?

(5.18.10)

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

-1-15-11


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

-9.16.10

an imaginary glass of wine