June 5th 2007

"Our bodies are mere shells, containers of our souls." After reading this quote my senior year of high school in a book called "Tuesday's With Morrie" I was stunned with its accuracy. No matter how much our bodies change as we age, or how they may change when we get sick, it is what is on our hearts or our souls that is most important. And what was inside my Grandfather's heart and soul is amazing. As the oldest, I was chosen by my Grandmother to represent the Grandchildren, to tell from our perspective just how much this man meant to us and how the times we spent with him and the memories we made together will be forever cherished. For me when I think about my Grandfather I remember the first 13 years of my life living in his home. I remember him taking care of me, loving me, and simply being there whenever I needed anything. But what I also remember are the lessons he taught me. There are also three distinct character traits that come to mind when I think of him. The first being drive. My Grandpa never gave up on anything or anyone. He drove his Grandchildren to do our homework, help out around the house, or do whatever else was needed of us. The second trait I believe best describes our Grandpa would be strength. Grandpa always dealt with every new hand life dealt him with plenty of strenght to face it. We have all seen Grandpa face the challenges of this past year and a half with strength, but that was a public display, not the only. And last but certainly now least, passion. OUr Grandfather loved his family with a deep passion, always there for us, and never let us down. Even though most of us knew him as a man of few words, none were needed for any of us to know how much he loved us. All of these things stick out in my mind, my cousins also have memories. Ryan Kornack, the second born Grandchild loved the way that we always knew Grandpa loved us, and how he always made special time with him, whether to just have a casual conversation, or to spend a couple hours watching Grandpa's beloved Illini basketball games. Austin Kornack, the third born Grandchild loved the family time we all spent, like this past Christmas when we all made a trip to Colorado. He also loved the way Grandpa was there to help anyone that needed it. He remembers especially, Grandpa being there to help his family through a tough time. Dylan Kornack, Grandchild at four years old loved the times Grandpa would play with him. Benjamin, and Samuel Harris, the youngest two Grandchildren who live in Colorado are too young to share any memories with me, but they will always know how much their Grandpa loved and cared about them and cherished the times he got to see them. Dylan said it best when he said he didn't want Grandpa to be sick anymore, and no matter how much our heads tell us he's not suffering anymore, our hearts still want him here. But that't when I'd like us all to remember more words from "Tuesdays With Morrie": "Death ends a life, not a relationship."

Answer

I say goodbye because I have to and because I'm tired of being your crutch
I say goodbye because the binging and purgeing isn't so romantic anymore
I say goodbye because I can.

I miss you the way you used to be, toes curled up and contacts out
I miss your bitten fingernails and buddha belly and hairy toes
Remember accidental candles?
I miss your cookie job as the mixer
I miss antisocial cuddle sessions

Too long, I've been here too long
stayed through too much, cried for so little
The instant I say goodbye I breathe, an expansion of ribs and organs and I'm alive
You killed me very quietly, sneaky like you are
You tiptoed over my traps and sank (victorious) into my favorite chair
(you thieved that too)

I say goodbye because I want to live
without you
I say goodbye because I'm no longer obligated to say
good morning

in with the love, out with the jealousy

jealousy have swallowed me whole,
this monster is gnawing on my insides,
take every vital organ away from me
little nibbles at a time.
Oh please, please take these
suspicious thoughts from my pea brain.
i pray that you cant see the ugly green in my eyes,
i cant help the red specks on my cheeks.
you relay to me that its stupid,
quit acting like a stupid bit..
a quick slap in the face,
reality check here.
get your head on straight,
rewind that clock back to a normal state
take a deep breath with every step
in with the love, out with the jealousy

Shattered

I'm remembering the day I told you you could keep me
Looked you dead in the eye and lied that I'd stay around
I'm remebering nights of touching and holding and learning
and new
I knew I loved you
knew from the first time I heard you laugh
it spilled like sugar onto a cupcake
like ages of tape being unwound from an 8-track
and backing up to when my heart was a virgin
I was a virgin with you
I hold your face in the palms of my mind
see you in every picture at night that tricks me into thinking
you're here
lover you're here.
in that picture frame that held our lips and the fan that you left on
I smell your skin every time I curl that pillow around my wounded heart
every breath I take is stolen from a wish
a dream
when I was your victory
you were my trophy my triumph over myself
I break my fall every day with your prison bed
I set myself free so you can feel through me what it's like
to have wings
you were my first cup of home made coffee
a brand new that could never get old
a new pair of shoes that went through the washer every day just to be able to look and say
baby I knew
I knew from the first shirt you wore and the way you ran
that we had a marathon to do
I knew how to learn my curves and fit them to you
Baby.
I see your stripes and you memorized my scars
tell me a scar story
Tell me where I'm from, and howcome when I come
to you
There's butterflies and unwrapped candies and cliff divers
There's a hole
an orface in the softest part of my heart where your body used to lie
curled up that way you do and I used to fit too
I used to fit too
And show me God, tell me how you met him how he tugged on your chain
Did you give Him my best
did you remember to tell him I'm sorry for giving this time away
If I gave you my ache would you find a place in the attic to store it until winter
when the flowers are gone and I need a way to remember this day
I've been opening presents I don't want and holding hands I can't touch
speaking truths and feeling lies never ever forgetting
your eyes
your chocolate eyes
tell me why do I breathe in your tears every time I say goodbye
why do I even try to say goodbye

Remeber your face the rest of my life

I saw a girl at Barnes and Noble,
She took my breathe away for the 4th time in my life.
She said "excuse me",
It was the second conversation we'd ever had.
She introduced her self once before but I don't remeber her name,
Just the tatto of a snake across her lower back.I wonder if she knew me,
or the shocked look on my face

Since I Die Daily, Daily Mourn.

Here, on fingertips, death resides

here, the anguish doth not subside

heavy with such mystery

falsehoods of such alchemy.

Enter death, an eternal breath,

to capsize youth and end distress

fortitude be yours, O sultan,

without a wince, you bring the silence from within.

Thou art the work of holy men

with little insight from within.

An auspice thou protest

so quickly, thou must lie to rest!

Hesitate not, in mine eyes thou

art fair and generous

granting mystery to the gangrenous

and wealthy alike!

O sultan, O sultan!

deliver from this world to thine

a message for those left behind

Faustian letters do remind

of days of old.

O sultan! O sultan!

here I lie upon the zenith of death

coffins for my eternal rest;

at my behest, my arms criss-cross my chest

upon my lips, a whisper of farewell.

Goodnight princess. Goodnight, my queen.

~.

Love,

Digress.

Forget writing, i lost it

we bleed without integrety,
And induce like celebrities,
we're paying for amenities,
as their stealing our identities
The clock stops, hesitating,
debating the moments its been creatiting and displaying,
Time waits,Unsparing,
Imparing the thoughts of preparing and staring.
defeat in my feet, and the concrete that they meet.
Trying to leave but your kiss makes me weak.

Te Amo

Is it sensible that pain can clense
purge
So many mixed tantrums float through the atmosphere
Breathe in. out. in. out. 10. 10. one...two...three.....ten
Ballsy
Chip on my shoulder.
You got it babe.
Broken like my words. thoughts. feelings.
I was ready
turn and walk, no talk, no tears, no words.
people, like natural disasters, have a way of drawing observers
Change change change
NEVER
I want you how I want you
But not forever
I wish
I'd let you go on forever
pero....mi familia
por favor mi amor, no mas. por favor.
I'd paint you away, secrets are better kept

Tribute.

With haste, the kiss we taste

strewn upon this bed are we

and that is how I shall forever see

shimmering gems of brown identity

along your body run the streams of time

slowly, I trace your outline

from head to toe

your touch is enough to sew together

internal feelings I cannot eschew

I stir, I plot, I seek a view

parting of lips force one to two.

Pound at my keys,

I am your harpsichord,

sounds sharper than the sword,

upon your mantel I shall rest

and the world I detest

until, again, I can invest

in carrying out your behest.

You witch--you siren--

coaxing me into oblivion;

under your spell, I have no decision,

but pursue your passion with precision;

enchanted, I am, by your beauty and poise

alchemise a lust potion--no!

your philtre bringeth pure devotion.

Here be we,

a genius of sweet alchemy,

and a man of great cacophony.

~Hansel und Grettle.

Love,

Digress.

1812 Overture.

Here, the lines are drawn

soldiers sing the battle song

'tis not the time for turning back

upon the field, creeds shall impact.

Down the line, the orders run

blazing blades in handfuls of sun

armour shimmers between the clouds

blood weighs heavy on these boughs.

Prepared, are we and thou not be

able to respond aptly to our victory

war brought by providence

'tis mine will o'er thine dominance.

For freedom the titans fight

clad in red, blue, and white

muskets and swords for what we want

for fire gives what the pen cannot!

Steady on steeds, we fight the decree

of those who built this colony

stand ready men; do not falter

for this land is of thine father.

Clutch the hilt and be not weak

the blade, blood, it shall seek

we will collide with destiny

out of death comes our victory.

Decimate and then some more

make them feel a ruddy sore;

little mercy at the trigger

for we shall bring the fire on thicker.

And in the night we shall war too

our aim and sight be true

until our goal is reached;

our governors impeached!

~Seventeen-seventy-when?

Love,

Digress.

Howl At The Blood Moon.

I set my top-hat down

on your

bed.

I walk into the room

with a grin made

of bullets.

Heretofore, I was your

enemy;

henceforth,

I am your friend.

Now the lead

is buried.

I let robins

in your

bedroom.

I break your mirror.

Love,

Digress.

Looking Indubitable

It is good

to sit

here on

my stoop

thinking about

litigation;

listening

to the neighbourhood

settle

into the

first clam

night of

spring.

And as I

take

another swig

of

the saké,

the neighbours

return

from a birthday dinner.

They carry in

a case

of beer.

Maybe

I'll be social tonight.

~Believe me.

Love,

Digress.

Only A Coffee Shop.

Hanged.

Shot.

Ambushed.

Drowned.

This is

self-destructive

at 

least I am

teaching myself.

I'll teach

you too.

While the

world is flooded and

the people

are ambushed,

there is

little

to do

but

wait.

We will

always be

waiting to be

Drowned.

Ambushed.

Shot.

Hanged.

~Celebration City.

Love,

Digress.

You are my assasin

Walk all over me, stomp that heel and turn that *click*
Baby when you hurt me it fulfills me
It reminds me that I'm the better person because...
I'd never do half this s*** to you.
You bring out the best Christ figure I've ever seen,
a martyr....a masochist
God, what I wouldn't give to throw you into my heart, let you drown in our misery
What I wouldn't give to hear you say you're sorry.
And you love me.
I don't wanna hear her name I don't wanna see her face...next to your soul....too close
You drag me down down down with you, and I go willingly
because baby we belong together
you'll see.
One day you'll wake up and see me sleeping and realize
how much you love me, you need me
I set the dull throb to a Katy Perry song and it sooths, like hydrogen peroxide on an infection
You're like pulling out a porcupine quill
like walking through the desert in bare feet and climbing cactus
....like piercing my tongue with a safety pin, snorting fire ants, chewing tin foil
You're the worst person with the best intentions I'll ever know. God I love you.
I'm your puppet, baby....
cut my strings.

Let me tell you about my hands

They all hurt. All 8 of them. Each with to knuckles crying for an ice pack to alleviate the throbbing pain of this morning’s consciousness. I hesitate on their dying plea and make fists, assessing the extent of which I felt like my life was over last night. The blood stains leading down my right palm to my pillow case prove that he was the one that questioned my ability to feel alive last night, but clearly after he could take no more punishment his brother stepped in to take the finals blows before I passed out awkwardly on my kitchen floor. It’s euphoric to feel the pain creep up my arms to my elbows. I learned a while back that it’s easier to make excuses for broken fingers than for cuts on legs that a just a little too straight. And besides, every bump every day reminds me that for some reason I still love you more than you will ever know. I think about writing the brick walls and wooden fences a thank you note and laugh. Thank you for all the times you have been there for me. Thank you for being strong when I am weak. Thank you for never breaking down on me. It makes me happy to know that all my life cement walls will be with me to pick me up when I’m down. Realizing my fingers have nearly convinced my eyes to cry, and my mouth to scream I wearily open my freezer door. I grab the bag of frozen peas and ice pack and feel relieved as they numb my knuckles back into nothing.

why it doesnt matter whats in the glass

“He doesn’t love you.”

“Shocker.”

“Then why do you bother?”

She spun around on the stool and shrugged her shoulders. Her dispassionate eyes suited her apathetic tone. “Maybe I just do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She looked down the bar at an old man hunkered over a whiskey sour, staring hopelessly into it like he was search for something. “It’s better than nothing, that’s what it’s supposed to mean.”

“But it isn’t significant.”

“But it isn’t nothing.”

She grabbed her messenger bag and dropped a couple bills next to an empty glass, looking back down at it. “You know why that glass is empty?”

“Because it’s not half full.”

“Exactly. Something isn’t empty or half-full because it’s missing something. It’s that way because you drank it, which is better than watching it sit there staring back at you. It doesn’t matter what it’s half of if you never drink it.”

“I see.”

“No you don’t.” She said, grabbing a tattered brown jacket. “But maybe someday you will.”

Then she sauntered freely out of the bar. But that lack of weight on her shoulders was also because she had nothing to weigh her down. I didn’t know whether to pity her or applaud her.

I am more than this.

Too often I find myself huddled in an overly hushed basement, garage, backyard, caught up in a mess of vodka shots, second hand smoke, and a few puffs of something quality that everyone will hit but me. I make up for the lack of a high with a few more pulls from the handle. And soon I grab onto that oh so familiar landing. The one where I can rest my feet comfortably, although a bit wobbly. My mind is gone, so I feel safe. It's not me that's moving, speaking, thinking, so I can relax. There's no way any of you could judge me in this state. So I continue.

It usually hits me about an hour in. I need someone. I need to feel someone's presence close to my body even if it's just a messy fumbling around behind the blackened end of a bathroom door. I need someone here with me. Because I am not. Because I left myself somewhere between the liquor run and the seventh game of flip cup. So I need someone to reassure me. 

Touch me, say my name. That's all I ask of you. Remind me of who I am, who I forced myself not to be and tell me that I'm beautiful and I'm all you want. I'll eat it up with every slur of your syllables. I will take you in and drown who I think I am inside of you.

And then I wake up and feel nothing again. I am back to myself. Just a little headache that a few hours of sleep can fix. I forget my alter ego, the exuberant. I take a deep breath and realize that I wasn't myself. It was her last night, she let her guard down, she gave up her morals. Not me. I would never do that. 

But how long will it take for me to use up the last of her, and have nothing left but myself...

You were meant for me

I lay on the bathroom floor until all the midnights for a month after you left me. Pushing my forehead into the cold, dingy white tile, I wondered why you'd gone, where the redeeming quality was, where the sun was hiding. I'd finger my pink baby blanket mom had wrapped me in as a child but took no comfort for it. There was no consolation prize for this and I didn't really understand what God was trying to teach me when he closed the door behind you and locked all the windows. The only thing that worked when it was supposed to was the plumbing in that clammy bathroom. After I hugged the lid with frail fingers, the toilet, though it did so reluctantly, flushed. Though it came through rusted pipes, the water always found its way to my tired body. Those things worked, why couldn't I?

It would be so much easier if there had been a "why" to go with a "what" but I suppose there are some questions that don't have their answers. For every marvel there is a mystery. It was a small but brutal mystery that left me alone on that bathroom floor every night, pulling up my shirt and looking down at exposed ribs, following them down to a scarred stomach. The worst part was there were scars but no you. My body had proof you'd been there, proof you'd existed. Somewhere inside I knew it. But the world showed no record of you. You weren't there in my apartment,waking me up in the middle of the night wailing like some sort of siren to break my tranquility. You weren't there. Instead I just had this scary, unaffected, silence in your place. I knew you were there somewhere, had been there somewhere. My body knew it. My scars proved it. But as far as the world was concerned you were just a pocket of silence, a blank silence that had never really been there.

I lay on that bathroom floor every night until midnight for a month, just trying to remember the golden locks that I'd never comb, the first words that would never be spoken, the kindergarten graduation I'd never attend, the milk that would never be spilled. Then I realized. Hearts are broken every day and mine isn't the only one chained to the bathroom floor, swaddled in a pink baby blanket where perhaps somebody else ought to be. So that thirty-first night, I got up and went into the bedroom and turned on Letterman. You had been in there somewhere once, tucked securely beneath my heart. I had the scars to prove it. Maybe the world forgets the lost too easily in its eagerness to pick up latenight talkshows and turn the channel to afternoon sitcoms. But all the same you can only swim against the stream for so long before your body fails and it sweeps you along with it. Wherever you'd gone I couldn't follow and you can't hold on to a hand that isn't there. It wasn't time to let you go. There is never a time or place for that sort of thing. But either way, at some point I had to do it. At some point I had to get lost in the television and let somebody else do the talking.

If You Need Some Cheering Up.

Looking in the mirror

never hurt

so much.

I think about

shaving my head with

a straight-bladed razor

and

pulling out

all of

my teeth,

one

by

one

with

a pair

of

needle-nosed pliers.

I think about how it

would feel;

looking down into

that sink;

blood, teeth, and

hair

against the white porcelain of 

the sink,

and a pair

of rusty

needle-nosed pliers

on the counter.

and I think about

breaking bridges,

burning pencils,

and

the way people look in 

convertibles

with the top

down.

they are ambiguous

at

best.

~I've got this feelin'. grab some synthetic hair.

Love,

Digress.

Watson Did The Work.

focused on the wrong

turns

and babies fall backwards

from 

staring at cases

of books.

industrial areas

with rent

higher than

the cost of living

will allow.

we paid for

that,

we'll pay for this

.

i fork over the cash

and

they spoon over the

protection;

it's never enough

it's actually

too much

and

never effective.

i pass the

doughnuts around

the room

they take

slow

bites

and feel

out of

place in their

desks.

it isn't a cafeteria,

it won't

ever be

.

i mostly annoy the

people whom

sit next

to me

.

they ask me

to be

quiet;

i only discuss the proper

answers

and get

laughed at quite often

for wanting

it all

to be corrected, or

debated

.

they'll hopefully

never

understand.

but, maybe

someday,

you will

~Wrong the second time.

Love,

Digress.

Son of a...

Born with a big mouth,

Brought up with an even bigger opinion,

Decent from great minds,

History runs in my blood,

From the slave trade to Hitler.

212 degrees, boiling point never felt so hot.

My blood boils,

Heat the moment.

Race,

Sex,

Orientation.

Shut your big mouth girl.

Congested, stuffy nose like.

As stubborn as I am,

I have weak knees for a good arguement.

Straight edge for the right answer.

I need to "watch it."

Everyday conversation anymore-

Anymore with me is censored.

Always worried about being "politically correct."

Anything with the slightest slip...

POOF!

Men, women, childeren,

Race of every kind.

Empowers my brain.

Takes over my body,

Hatred for races.

I hate gay pride.

CENSOR!

Not a conversation topic,

Not to be discussed at work.

"I'm sorry, you're fired."

Shut your big mouth girl.

Opinions aside,

Hatred away...

But, but wait-

I can't call you the

Bleep word...I would be raciest

You can call me a bleep word-

My people in-slaved you-

Fists up,

White power,

No, no, no!

Not at the employment office!

If I knew what was good for me...

Dang, I'd still have a job.

disappeared

Hey Big Brown Beautiful Boy...
I wanna hear from you,
where you been?
have you fallen off the bus that gave you to us?...
sing me a song! surely i'm wrong
in assuming
that you've disappeared?

The Post Office Has Gone Broke.

I remember

Rich telling me

that you've got to send

mail

to get

mail.

Even when I send

mail

the bonds between friends

enter the ends

but there's no help for that

and I will never

be 

what you're looking for

, though

, I will sometimes 

appear that

way.

My best friends

: I have

Never met

, and Never will.

They are all dead.

And I might

be too.

~Fermented grapes tonight. generic words.

Plain love,

Digress.

Colour Me Pedantic.

I've been wondering

about the concepts

and the basics

you have a tendency

to miss.

And the way

you cannot

formulate

Iambs in Octameter

or Pyrrhic Dimeters

you cannot crochet a trochee

into the lines of a tercet.

Soliloquies and metaphors

on the zenith of an anapest

could make you

the best.

Byronic irony

with a simple Spondee

could

set your style free.

But the lessons

evade

whilst you sit and degrade

the thoughts you

can't formulate

or begin to comprehend.

So is this the end?

Not for you

friend.

~This might be one of the last.

Spent,

Digress.

No Help.

I cannot be anything

I once was

.

.

.

And I've been writing a tragedy.

~Drink your tea.

Apologetic,

Digress.

Let Me Love You

The windshield wipers sway back and forth to the beat of your awful music.
I listen to it, trying to figure out what strums you.
I already know that I'm going to get caught up in you. I can feel it.
The wipers tell me to build a wall, bind my heart to the inside of my chest. They tell me to get out of the car, get out while I'm still ahead.
We finally pull over. Still the rain pounds on the pavement below us.
You slide closer to me, i breath in your smokey, cinnamon sent.
You hand has a mind of its own, it places its self upon my quivering thigh,
my heart instantly skips a beat, my lungs rise and fall at a rapid pace,
my brain racing back to memories of your past, light bulbs flickering telling me not to be in love with you. You are a train wreck. Your soft, unmanly voice brings me back to your attention. Those blueberry eyes piercing my face, they keep me warm. You lean in for a kiss, my eyes are shut neatly as you dig in. I cant breath, I have to pull away. Instantly your body is in idle. Look into my eyes baby, let me tell you everything.
If I could only tell you that I love you everything would be okay. But I cant tell you, you told me not to fall for you, was I supposed to hit the ground running? Attachment, isn't that love? Did you not tell me you were in love with me? You say I'm not allowed to want to be in love with you. You stress me with your unspoken thoughts. You love me, just tell me from your soft, weather wore, secret kept, lying lips. There is hope. I am here for you. I'm not here to fix you, only make you better. You never carry around your baggage, and I'm not here to carry it for you. Listen to me look into your eyes, let me tell you the words to heal your soul. Let me love you the way you deserve to be loved.

Corruption.

We've been sitting in your car for hours

jam-packed in a heat of hormones.

Smoking cigarette, after cigarette

after cigarette.

With each drag, your eyes drag too.

Drag me in, with your

big smile, doe eyes.

I smell corruption.

Wander into the house, down the stairs.

Gradually into the covers.

My hand grasps for your hand, 

my experience grasps for your innocence.

No turning back, there is no retreat.

I love the softness of your lips.

It irons out the wrinkles of mine,

irons out the imperfections, the scars of lovers past.

Your innocence makes me feel pure.

Whole.

Me again.

And I love you for it.

And I smother you with all the passion 

that I can pull up from inside.

A haze of intoxication, a cloud of disinigration 

from what I wanted, and now 

what I need.

It's 3 am on a Sunday morning.

The Lord's day.

And here I am, breathing heavy, intertwined  

between sheets and legs

and his eyes.

And never wanting anything

anywhere

anyone else.

But you.

You are young, but so am I.

The world that you've shown me is young

and beautiful.

You've shown me that again.

Embraced, saved, loved me.

And I love you for it.

stop.

you drove me on. stop.
you let me become blind. stop.
my heart paralyzed. stop.
my lungs collapsed. stop.
God as my witness. stop.
youre a fool. stop.
im the best. stop.
you.[pause] will.[pause] never.[pause] love.[pause] again.[pause]stop.
dearest love of mine, stop.
forever will your soul rot, stop.
not to long before your heart will melt, stop.
before you miss me, stop.
remember that the sight
or sound of your name, stop.
makes me gag, makes me die, stop.
just before you put me on my death bed, stop.
just before you turn off my liberating machine, stop.
i will haunt you in your dreams, stop.
forever thine stop.
forever mine. stop.
fornever ours. stop.
stop.
yours truly.
stop.

force-fed

you are that person who claims me, that smile that trains me
to come back
you hold my breath in your lips, like the smoky tips falling from the ash tray
and oh baby the way
mmmmm that way you climb through the jungle of my mind and tap tap tap
on my cranial hemisphere to make sure that I HEAR
you walk away
and I
let you
but oo darlin you know my limit and you dance within it
just to see
and now that feelin I got, that hot steamy sensation...that elation of being THE creation you sought
is
emptying out my chest cavity and plundering my soul, peeking at my hand and telling me to fold
so I quit, I'm out, I'm not fit for your game
it's the same fight the same sorries the same sex
every night and despite my obsession with our passion
....
you aren't worth it

so forget you, yeah baby it's true I'M leaving YOU
no threats no games no mind-blowing names screaming at the top of my lungs or climbing the ladder rungs daring you to save me, no tests of your devotion or begging for emotion
in your eyes

you'll find it's lonely here alone without me

Saturday.

Saturday night, Poisonous, if you know what I mean. Black eyeliner, deep blush. Red cups, Music so loud we speak with our eyes. Dancing on the wood floors, I've never felt so alive. Experimenting. My blurred eyes match my blurred thoughts. My skin is hot, it's uncontrollable. Trash talk. Girl Talk. Bathroom Talk. Stumbling, Swaying - Falling, falling fast. Pictures to remember the night, cause our brains can't. Real People. Fake People. Two People. Sunday Morning seems so far, 2AM and we can't stop. 3AM, still going'. We won't crash. Cigarette smoke fills the air - My lungs too. Loud voices, small whispers, music singers. Undeniable thoughts. Unbelievable actions. Incredible Passion.




Remember, the loudest person in the room is also the weakest.

Time To Laugh

The Terrible Television has been living in front of your eyes for quite some time. I've been behind your screen waiting for the right theme, a new format: laughing at your door mat: WELCOME, well, they seldom come. I've been on the edge of the seat waiting for the right time to give you all a good treat. Something ironic, something secretly sardonic, but you can't drink the gin in my tonic. I grew a new backbone, found a new tone, and distributed some sound straight to your dome.

The Terrible Television is the source of all information, keeping track of every single station. I know what you watch and I know what you staunch. You draw the line at news and information but when the lies flow you get a-ragin'.

The Terrible Television is the new-world vision: the pristine package of all those who are livin'. I'm a new format of symbolism, in every home and inspiring every poem. A new way to stay at home to roam. Time to escape to the land of the free on-demand movie, you have until Tuesday. 

I am the Terrible Television, bringing to you the news, bringing to you the information that you choose.

~April fools.

Sorry,

Digress.

Insomnia

I'm choosing my muse, the one I’m ready to abuse.
And running mad confused left me staring straight at you.
Accusing my shoes for the heart break that ensues.
And beating in a bruise for the hope that renews.
Dreaming of sleep,
but your scent stains my sheets,
And I’m trying to leave,
but your kiss makes me weak.
It competes with the grief of my downfall,
repeat.
And holding you in dreams,
finding time to delete.
Its defeat to discrete to be regarded as complete.
Staring at my feet and the concrete that they meet.
chalk up one more victory for trying to pretend.
it’s a shadow fading fast of what we all want to defend
In the end we'll make amends, and pour sand in our sheets,
To take us to that beach so we can finally fall asleep.
It's not that our dreams are haunted by our memories,
but that morning light is blaring
And it's breaking our integrity.

First draft, you'll see this again

Oh, How You Could

Oh,

how

you

could

think

that

certain

people

have

it

so

rough

that

you

would

never

be

able

to

live

one

mile

in

their

shoes

with

their

problems

is

beyond

me

.

Oh,

how

you

could

constantly

fail

to

recognise

the

tragedy

building

up

inside

us

at

every

turn

of

the

way,

at

every

tick

and

tock

of

the

timer

is

beyond

me

.

Oh,

how

you

could

forget

that

every

life

is

an

alarm

clock

set

and

waiting

to

pounce

spring-loaded

on

the

very

peaceful

sleep

of

life

.

.

.

~Lightning last night, burnt grasses this morning.

Love,

Digress.

Evidence.

pain in my pockets, agony in my shoes

another crucifixion of the abused

painful remorse seeking discourse

and i can't really grasp the course

navigation breakdown of the source

mental maps folded into aeroplanes

sitting on the ducts of totally sane

back in the bottle neck alleviating pain

leaving me bruised but still the same

quietly arranged, and quickly perplexed

not the sort of comment easy to interject

another foul play line drive up the middle

putting the unaware in the reigns of the saddle

portion size has grown beyond balance

fat communist cats running scared countries

harmonising contrapuntally with the disease

we've travelled east to west

protecting more hearts than brains in our chests

another victim of a jerry-built gerrymander

taxing society looking to someone to pander

another axe handle cherry chopping session

picking up pitch-black forks for this dimension

free men forced to bring knives to gun fights

blue men on the prowl to knock out lights

of bronze shining from sea to sea at night

it's a Lazarus of a task

stand up with your Guy Fawkes mask.

~Magna Carta, Parliment, 5 November 1605.

Love,

Digress.

Modus Operandi

waking up on a back road

broken glass breaks with a sad note

we had to try to get out of this mess

we forget that once we reach success

and pain is in the closet

the victims sit inside my pocket

high and tight, low and loose

another sorry person with a sorry excuse

writing letters in return

my fans will never be concerned

until i take the last step

and that's under the breath

waiting for intelligence

receiving no benevolence 

another tragedy at the hands of insolence

stepping to the cowardice

the earth shudders with complacency 

while humans destroy freedom with policy

we're sitting in the stew of social cacophony 

just another human tragedy.

~Here comes my friend.

Love,

Digress.

I Found Me Today.

Relationships.
What an utterance.
Mostly an affirmance.
This guy was dynamic,
insanely panoramic.
A cheater though,
A big boaster.
Promising Love?
Undreamed Of.
It was intense;
But thats past tense.
So I moved forth,
Improved, you could say.
This guy was older,
Never gave me the cold shoulder.
Driving down the street,
There I was complete.
Talked for hours;
Sitting through April showers.
Sound chilche?
Only in a heart felt way.
This guy was sensitive,
Not at all envasive.
Only on the inside;
though he always denied it.
Two years?
It disappeared.
Who am I now?
It was like taking a final exam.
Now, this one;
He was unpredictable,
Yet achiveable.
He said unforgetable words,
Asorbable.
Trust issues existed,
we never resisted.
Always consisted of..
Something, one thing;
Passion and desire,
like a line of fire.
It never really ended,
which isn't what I intended.
I stand here today,
Nothing works ones way.
But I found myself,
releived myself.
And i'm here to stay,
Without any delay,
Say hello to me, a woman;
It's a desire.
Here I Am,
Bold and confident for any man.

I Met Bukowski In The Mirror This Morning.

You can see

it in his

eyes that he 

has walked a 

few miles and

taken a few

lives;

had a few 

promises

broken

. His shoes are 

worn down and 

his face grown 

out;

starts every

day with a

hefty bit 

of pain so 

he smiles in 

a wince and 

stands with a

crooked back

. He can't sink

or swim he's 

not looking

to begin

just searching

for a way

to pack it

up today

. His here and

now is gone

with the

whisper of

the tongue

and beating

of a drum

clocked out

and stone cold

these are the

streets he roams

drunk and with

no home

. Beaten down

and out of

breath he tries

to repent

but his idea

of god never

gave him the

laude

. Nietzsche told

him this and

Nietzsche told 

him that

nothing was

ever good

enough to

attract

so he tried

to keep out

and tried to

be aware

of the kooks

hiding in

crannies

behind the

infamy

. Aware of

the defeat,

a dirtbike

on the street,

a social

submarine

sinking with

the dream 

. Where humans

had failed, he

would observe

from quite the

distance so

as not to

get perturbed

sitting still

with glass in

tow

. And I'm sure

that he could

have been my 

dad.

~Good-night Milwaukee. good-night Bukowski--you'll never need to understand.

Love,

Digress.

"graduation."

We thought this year would be everything we asked for,
and just a little bit more.
But what we have come to see,
Is that was nothing more than false reality.
Our hops, our dreams, are slipping away,
Leaving us all in complete and utter dismay.
So where do we go from here?
I guess we will have perserve.
They say good-byes' are the hardest part,
I think they forgot about having to restart.
Because this is what we've grown to love,
Without having to question all of the above.
We try to say this isn't the end,
But what about 'graduation' do we not comprehend.
Going back, what would you change?
Other than everything.

An Open Letter.

Feeling like the bad guy

for wanting it to be right

a stupid issue

from a stupid mouth

up at night because of a stupid choice

sleeping easy in the next room

it's easy

to play that defensive tune

that's why

he finds the

melodies so sweet

bringing to him that

kind of

relief

i feel broken in the back yard

stabbed by my right hand

slicing thoughts with a shard

broke something grand

and looking in the mirror

i get disgusted

thinking of my potential

i hope it's enough

to keep me

from that dug hole

living like he does must be nice

no more ability than

what will suffice

i've been suffering in the back yard

of my mind

thinking of an admirable time

few come alive

and many less built around a lie

a man in charge

who can't sever ties of dependency

hypocrisy explicit 

flowing in veins

of redundancy

it's like the same uneasy sentence again

like the same uneasy sentence again

same uneasy sentence again

and then the same uneasy sentence again

but what can we do

when you didn't commit to a vision?

broken floor tile

arguments unfounded

so give me a smile

stupidity compounded

victim of his gerrymandering

but thinks he is pandering

only to himself

never puts a new book

on that shelf

every time

i try to be myself

he grabs hold of the ideas on

my shelf

and my questions are too painful

and passing judgement is so useful

an informed decision

he thinks it's all motive

for unnecessary competition

but what is that within?

failure to want to begin?

i am painfully distraught

when he acts like

i fought

with

deadly intentions

i become a broken fence

around a bed of

severed heads

melodrama queen

get back in your limousine

painful to write

painful to fight

no sword nor pen in your sight

gentrified but lost sight

and i'm afraid to follow suit

and i'm afraid to follow you

i don't know

am i being a good one?

have i been a good ...?

even if i'm mad

i'm sorry ...

~It is personal.

Love, 

Digress

And I know you don't feel right when I'm leaving.

I will never forget blue in your eyes.

Hazel, without a doubt, but those blue rings around the inside

hidden to most, but I always seemed to find them.

I will never forget night swimming

sneaking in through the padlocked gate

diving through the knats and the evening's humidity

kissing hard and long and intertwining our bodies and 

then dunking you and swimming away as fast 

as my size 5 feet would paddle

as you "quickly" chased after me.

I will never forget the scruff on your face.

After three days it formed around your proud jawlines

scratching me every time you would kiss the edges of my mouth.

I will never forget the way you got angry.

Eyes wide, sarcastic grin, words that sliced

that soft part of my heart.

The part I kept for you.

I will never forget the pet names

the starlight nights, getting buzzed off our cheap wine

spooning cause we fit so easily together.

I will never forget your giggle.

Your snide little comments, your teases, your taunts

but I laughed just as hard cause you were just kidding.

And come on, I was easy to pick on.

I will never forget our restaurant

our spot, our table, our dinner

no matter how angry we were, that place sealed up the hurt.

I will never forget the crinkles in your smile, 

little imperfections in the imperfect grin that was absolutely perfect to me.

I will never forget the way you ate that grilled cheese

that didn't cook all the way through

and the bread was butter soaked and burnt

the cheese was cold

but you ate it

all

because I made it for you.

I will never forget the way you cried

too tough to break in front of anyone

but me.

The way your face scrunched and 

your eyes filled with the fattest tears

and no matter how mad I was 

I had no choice but to wipe them, kiss them, take them away from you.

Because you were everything.

You are everything.

This might be for the best.

Who knew heartbreak could shatter the most protected of souls.

Fully Alive.

Fully alive. I wish I could find that point. I figure it's a moment in your life when your whole body fills up with what seems like air. But it's not air, or it could be because it makes you squeal and smile and swell up and feel high and cover you and envelope you and fill you and make you feel whole. And whatever triggers you to this balloon-like state, you never let it go. Ever. Sure there's always going to be that depression where you think it has left for good. But one you find that spot and that moment, and that catalyst, you know you have been, and are, and will be and can be alive. So you hold on to it. Cause after it drifts away, you still hold on to, remember, recall, reach for, desire, long for, crave, need that most wonderful, magical, life changing hot air balloon high. And you know it is always possible for you to feel like that again. I can't wait for the day that I feel fully alive.

Freedom to Gain.

martyrdom for freedom what's the true price?

when they install a liberty-killing device

address the congress: they don't take advice

it's three A.M.: answer the call

the picket line will soon be wall to wall

no time to trust: reserves have gone bust

falling short in the long term 

quickly we are concerned 

at the way everything has turned 

it's a fairness doctrine 

another curtail of talkin' 

plain speech will now breech 

the securities of those in reach 

no more 1st amendments 

our government are the parents 

a nation of children 

cut loose from the building  

lowering the glass ceiling 

seditious acts that are crippling 

to think freely and speak the same 

blood tainted in the vein 

we've got to stop being constrained 

it should be, simple, clear, and plain

standing up leaves only freedom to gain.

it's up to our dignity to restore liberty

harass the vigilante: it is the authority

we must speak out with clarity

get past the gravity

we keep destruction on the tip of tongues

another government guided without guns

the people won't stand up

but they'll kneel on knees for luck

it's another let-down

freedoms being stolen without sound

and now I'm choking, addressing the whole town

we choose not to fight

because police will read the Mirada right

we forget they work for us

taxes pay the pension of those who are 'just'

political action figurines

on sale, next to our values and intrigues

when do we draw the line of command

just another castle in the sand

falling with the tide

telling us to abide

no questions as to how we came to unite

not a one party system

but an angry dream in the vision

revolution is required

for us to achieve what we desire

by hook or by crook

revolution we will cook

in the kitchen of anarchy

another capitalist vision, not insanity

free to form to the vision of fore-fathers

step up to the plate and let us protect our daughters

fight fire with fire and don't slip the desire

earned in blood, an earned empire

of free thought, it's inequality we fought

address discrepancy, forgive the vanity

approach with caution, the ever-lasting right

to bear speech with freedom and arms with might

fascism blind-sides like accidents of plain sight

we've got to renovate

stand up against what they eviscerate

we've got to contemplate:

what is the politician's plate?

another way to confiscate expression

is what they envision

when did the bill of rights become a privilege?

when did freedom revert to a vision?

why are we so docile?

why aren't we hostile?

revolutions happen in a curious way

there's one objective to obtain

~History and timing are important. So are the bill of rights.

Love,

Digress.

Censorship

Censorship, like penmanship-

Must be, has to be legible,

Gotta contain-withhold an

(UN) appropriate language-text

Words.

Items omitted by the “man.”

Age discrimination permitted

Race, gender, orientation omitted.

By all means necessary

To keep,

Our minds, thoughts, ears, and hearts

Free, clear, pure, innocent.

Censor, censored, censorship.

To be censored,

Plug your ears, close your eyes.

Sunrise

I've  been looking through keyholes

of lockets

searching for what will

attract your attention

I've been absent

loving long-distant

and I

apologise.

We stretch out on beds of

concentration

we are

concerted

making plans not to make plans

devising ideas for

entertainment

scolding peers

for lacking vision

(but we all suffer from that)

I want to float down the neck of

bottles

down the neck of fermented passion

we've got wine in our tradition

sunday meals shared with decision

and when I finally disappear,

I'll let

the wind do the whispering

it'll say:

I love you.

~Panda bears live outside of zoos.

kisses,

Digress.

Drawing lines in the sand

between what you own

and what i own

Drawing lines in the sand

between reality 

and insanity

Drawing lines

between political parties

and free spirits

Drawing lines

behind the eyes 

what is LOVE?!?!?!?

Love is the color of your laughter,

Love is the sound of the clouds,

Love is what you can't deny,

Love is something that you can feel down deep inside,

Love is knowing that people care about you,

Love is NOT being afraid of being yourself,

Love is opening your heart and not being afraid,

Love is the color of your laughter and the sound of a coud.

LOVE!

Staci

Insanely but tamely, you find a new way to maim me, break my heart daily and take time to blame me. Complaining of raining and the alcohol is draining. Nausea’s assailing from the heartbreak I’m arranging. But I still see your breath, within the memories of my failing. Still smell your smile, while the cigarettes inhaling. Still hold your hand in the memories that save me. Still feel your kiss as her's is impaling.

A Life of Photographs

Photographs capture the happy moments in life.
The moments where we’ve taken time out of our busy day to snap a smile or a goofy look that lasts only a millisecond.
A flash that is blinding and leaves us seeing little circles minutes after we posed, creates occupied spaces in an empty photo album.
With the push of one little button, we can remember something temporary, permanently.
A thin, flat piece of paper with that photo on it somehow brings us joy when we see it in that photo album or in that picture frame.
It brings us back to the very moment that our image was frozen.

But what if that photo wasn’t simply flat?
What if there was more to it than just a sparkling smile that stands out?
What if there was a backside to that captivating moment?
A side that thrives on taking snapshots of all the things that we don’t want in that album.

Instead of a flash, there is an explosion of light,
imprisoning those tears that no one knows are falling.
That small button is punched,
marveling at the fact that our pain was seized and stopped in its tracks.
There are no tickle me pink grins or laughs that are contagious,
but instead the mood is tickle me blue and the word laughing has no meaning.
These pictures don’t capture just a millisecond of our busy hectic lives;
they make up the majority of it.
These are the winks that are misinterpreted and then fall through the cracks
where no one will ever see them.
Look at the split seconds that made their way into that happily hued photo album
or those in the picture frames all around you.
No tickle me blue or black hues are radiating off their flat surfaces,
the only complexion glowing are those tickle me pink, rosy cheek twinklings staring back at you. We don’t want those downbeat times
that are soaked in a blue funk to be taken into custody and made permanent.
And though my eyes pop with the color blue,
I too would prefer the intoxicating hue of pink, beaming faces to be the ones that we keep.

I know that a picture is still thin, flat, and one sided;
but if we took a step back to realize
that there may be something hidden in the moment that was there,
then maybe they wouldn’t disappear in the flash.

Aphorisms: Psychobabble.

1.

Legal Review - Laws are not the foundation of justice but are the hindrance of liberty; the foundation of justice  can be found in the way children are imbued with concepts of retribution. (see No. 15)

2.

A Bad Education - To teach the history of demonisation with a punitive disposition is to demonise; for the sake of sparing a redundancy, history should never be taught with this disposition.

3.

The Governed - The question to the government is not what it will do for the citizens, but by which means does the government plan to abate its presence in unnecessarily-governed civil arenas.

4.

The Good-Socialist - A socialist society does not modify the abilities nor the motivation of those within, but disables the returns gained by well-wishing efforts.

5.

A Sad Paradox -

"Dictionary - n. A Malevolent literary device for cramping the growth of a language and making it hard and inelastic." The Devil's Dictionary - Ambrose Bierce

It can be noted though, that recently both the quality of literature and the lexicon has diminished quite extensively, notwithstanding the size of the english dictionary has grown double its size since the 17th century.

6.

When Orating - Cant, but do not prate--hypocrisy is more subtle than foolishness, lo both are often reviewed as six of one.

7.

A Pithy Nature - Human nature is not derived from the most primitive times of man's existence, but from the the childhood man experiences; each nature differs from person to person--which is the foundation of individuality--but ultimately each nature enables itself to conform to a common ideal; it is common natures that differentiate the participants of a society. 

8.

Governance - It is not wealth that governs the world--as radicals do believe--but the motivation to gain wealth that governs the world.

9.

Self Advocacy - It is not for the benefit of conversation nor to hear another person that we lower the volume on a television or stereo, we lower the volume so that we can be certain our end of the conversation is heard. 

10.

Missing Strokes - Social constructivism appears as an excellent viewpoint, an opinion that is logical and easy to apply. The issue though, is the social constructivist does not recognise a very powerful force in the inter-workings of society: the power of the individual. Without accepting the power of the individual, the answer of how social constructs come about wanders into the night unanswered.

 

11.

You Sound Like... - Person: "You sound just like my friend ________"  Reply: "Thank you, but I would rather sound like myself." 

12.

Simplicity - The greatest thoughts and problems are not presented with simplicity, but solved and explained with simplicity.

13.

Why I Use British English - I enjoy most an original.

14.

Devil's Advocate - Be cautious when you choose to advocate an under-represented subject, the proponents are often wont to be fickle or even worse: inane on the subject.

15.

Equal Protection of Liberty - Under Title XIV of the United States Constitution, it is guaranteed that "No state shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States..." Upon review of this I enquire: do certain statutes that your government enforces, and you abide by, inhibit your ability to be completely liberated as liberty is defined in the Bill of Rights?

~Welcome to practice.

Love,

Digress.

30 Influences

1. Fambly                        (Jane Mark and Greg)
   
2. G. Hantleman
   
3. Arturo Marr
   
4. Kiki Leyba
   
5. Gustavo                      (Input)
   
6. Charles Bukowski
7. Libertarianism
8. Samuel Clemens       (Mark Twain)
   
9. Fydor Dostoyevsky
10. The Federalists         (Organisation)
11. Children of Men       (Film)
    
12. Zach Thomson
    
13. Richard Terfry           (Buck 65)
14. Fredrich  Nietzsche
15. Franz Kafka
16. Jeremy Clarkson       (of Top Gear)
17. Stephanie Cegelski
18. There Will Be Blood (Film)
19. I Heart Huckabee's   (Film)
20. The Prisoner              (T.V. mini-series)
21. Discraft
22. englishrussia.com     (Website)
23. Roberto Matta
24. Charles Bottomly
25. Planet Earth              (T.V. mini-series)
26. The Blue Planet        (T.V. mini-series)
27. W.L. Weller               (A bourbon)
28. Enzo Ferrari & Antonio Ascari
29. The United Kingdom
30. Nikon                         (Cameras)

~Pretend we d0n't exist. and we don't.                 1776.

Love,

Digress.

Loving the Daughter of an Italian Plutocrat

I like to watch good girls go bad

'cause they still have issues with their dad

going down like titanic; her tears are so tragic

manipulating her; she wants to be static

so I push and pull until she is emphatic:

screaming something hostile; exhaust from intake

but I just love to make her body shake

finding another way to make her love-hate

the way I abuse her at speeds higher than the interstate

spinning her until we're both dizzy

I wonder when I lock her in the garage: does she miss me?

she's in the shadow of my limelight when I put up a good fight

all the way till the end; she doesn't pretend

to appreciate me, but deep inside she needs

a man who can navigate through greed

putting up with her Italian design

she wants me to unwind

we're in a limited-slip relationship:

I still go after others while she cries to her mother

sorting things out like a fight with her brother

I'll leave her be for a few weeks

when I return it's all kisses on the cheeks

convincing her she's not weak

as long as she gets through in two hours

I need every one of her break horse powers

give me the challenge; she's easy to devour

the best of men submitting to the greatest sin

come prepared, that's what I always do

so that I can be behind the wheel of my lovely you

you're white green and black: pure, envious, and detached

can't force-feed you much through your hatch

so I pump you full of petrol to get your heads to roll

camshafts crank out the power to the track

and I know I was told not to meet my hero

but Ferrari Modena, you score a one-zero

~Strange how little we enjoy the things we really should cherish.

Love,

Digress.