run red lights

slowly losing time;

alcohol punishing dreams--

tomorrow is lost.

~Cruise missile.

Love,

Digress.

Чернобыль Сказание

dust rises while buildings crumble;

canyons answer with cavernous echos

~Crisis.

Love,

Digress

halfway whole

you know when you squeeze a sponge and all the juices of the kitchen-world that have been slurped up in the past...forever....gush out like shaken soda exploding;
like pushing the elevator button and waiting on the 99th floor;
remember how it feels to wake up in the middle of the night with a wet pillow and swollen eyes because that dream-image was oh so real;
and thinking you can you can you can....but then you really truly honestly....can't;
can't you imagine spilling your guts and being so politically INcorrect that they have no choice but to look and stare and say "oh my";

i guess what this jumbled mess of similies and subtelties and (un)certainties points to is that feeling when you feel so dead inside that when things break down, CRaSh, and buRN, you realize that a long time ago you stopped forgetting to care and...and maybe it's time to remember.
when you're fighting, pushing, playing that tug-of-war of wills and pride and who can spit the meanest s*** and all you, I, can think is i'm so tired and trying to cry with a depleted supply of emotion tears
how many times can a human heart (love?) be twisted, tested, cheated, betrayed and abused, before it stops hurting, stops threatening to tear them (me) apart and just keeps on beating with the same thud-thud...thud-thud it had before you even knew about that fanciful fascination in the art of feeling



how long can you fake it

Hundred Proof

burnt flower petals

, severed family bow-tie

, holding stick ups

in the form of date rape drugs

; black eyes for the last life

, tear gas ducts full of

salted seas

, soiled soil with no laments

--a threnody in what we say

past times

and last lives

; shattered for the first times

and this was the fresh fallen powder

marching through april weather

--we fit inside the same sweater

stretched to strangle the 

inventor.

Broken glass

and outside my window

is the awful depiction of you

and all i see is

truth. 

i've been spending my nights

in brightless lamplight

writing the suffixes of vampires

bleeding for the starving writers

who know not their desires

but what death

inspires

.

i'll die of T.B.

and you'll live on without me

.

welcome one and all

to my co-dependency

; i break safety sun-glasses

with the poise and passion

of the rebel football team

go ahead--step to me

, i've got a scalpel

and flesh as soft as precious metal.

Staple brains shut

stable veins touch

on the matter of fact

tap into the right picket front line of

defense

it's a homeland security breech

spies are on my mail

and

everything i write

is

translated

to braille.

insufficient funds

to replace

my fun

; i drink up to one-hundred-and-fifty bullet proof

in attempt to school

and drink

to you

under

the table you 

just

can't consume

.

rap right

and you'll

never

see the

light

.

~Touch what you think about. overstand homie?

piss off,

Digress.

I promise I didn't realize the connotations of this until after my professor read it out loud..

We played "telephone" in a class of about 18. My professor gave us a sentence of the first line of a poem. As it progressed, we came up with the fifth line of the poem. Much different from the first. Anyways, we used some sound in the poem and this is what, unfortunately, I innocently came up with. And I turned bright read after he proclaimed me "the best erotica writer he's ever had."

Untitled

Take stock of the rail yard and the smoldering sagebrush
Instead of pounding down ale after a game of frisbee;
So drunk the Grandfather clock fails to warn the men of the blushing
Young tart nearing an orchard to bring the boys something hairy and free
Tick-tock eating a peach, hanging in a tree.

God?

My Religion has failed me.
No longer am I a dropdowntomykneesinthemiddleofchurch kind of person.
Praying has seemed like a waste of time.
Theory states: one clings to ones religion because of needs; most common,
love.
Theory states: one who has no self confidence tends to cling to religion;
Theory states: we are religios because we are fearful, this is how we manage
terror.
Terror management. Like AA but you aren't drinkin.
So there for I question my "religion",
I believe, but I don't.
Now, doesnt the Bible say that or something along the lines of;
if you tell Him your hearts desires and whatnot, they shall be given to you?
Well i'm pretty sure that he knows;
then why in hell have I not gotten any of them?
Combat;
you could go in a believer and come out not...because if God is sooooo good, then why are you there in the first place? Why did he send you there? Why cant he protect the people that are dying right infront of you?
you could however go in not believing in a higher power, and become a walktothefrontofthealterandraiseyourhandstotheskyfornoreason kind of person.
Who am I to say?
I dont know whats real.
But believer I am no longer anymore.

Worth

The concrete pulls down hard on my deep breaths
inhaling violent smoke rings, lit by the pit of
an olive in my stomach

Ripped journals contain quotes of a time when
lilies floated on the neck of a wine bottle; a game of Twister with only dots
of red, striped sheets

But underneath the staff you hold, I cannot manifest how
my badge became so tarnished with spaghetti sauce
after an overheated attempt at cooking.

Worth

The concrete pulls down hard on my deep breaths
inhaling violent smoke rings, lit by the pit of
an olive in my stomach

Ripped journals contain quotes of a time when
lilies floated on the neck of a wine bottle; a game of Twister with only dots
of red, striped sheets

But underneath the staff you hold, I cannot manifest how
my badge became so tarnished with spaghetti sauce
after an overheated attempt at cooking.

Pornographic Living.

we tip bottles with impunity

as long as we can continue our sanity

taking deep breaths for all those drowned in vanity

and in this jail you only get one call of duty

this is the life you said would never suit me

and now i swim in bottle filled of induced clarity

you continue to pilfer from those who donate pedigree

and now i'm on one knee asking: will you please marry me?

we've got so much in common

we like to jump skeletons so often

pound flesh like we were laying in a coffin

death letters written to ourselves under the hearts we soften

with world wars under utility belts that we down play

to those with no idea of how far back our history rubs

and when i talk about content i tell them it's not like those other ones

we're unique to the point of obscenity we keep our identity

standing in a crowd, alone as an entity

time passes quickly when i'm inside of your infinity

and all my heart is devoted to your ability to make money

i love you for your body and how you live in places always sunny

and there's a bit of a draft between what we love and what we live

even bigger is what we receive and what we choose to give

and that's okay, because you F... the pool boy and i'm in an affair with the school toy

at the heavy teacher's petting zoo, we're gonna grab and fondle you

until you win the sexual science fair with your gorgeous hair that makes the crowd drool

it's an angel hair holocaust with every shower you take

and we can't quite figure out how often you fake

but we know you like it when i grab myself a rake

sift through turf in the undergarments

one day i'll place you in the La Brea tar pits

because your narcissism set me into the mood of crimes to commit

sitting on the sidelines while you wash the dishes and buy me socks

we all know you only married me because you like my...

but that's not the story you like to flaunt to the flock

and there's nothing left over in the refrigerated small talk

from inside out, i microwave all the things we spout to the city block

at the end of my career i was twenty two and i've mooched off of your stock

living in the limelight--giving you everything you can't count to

and now i'm just the strings on your shoe

tied once and tired out of view

now i'm sleeping on the solid decision walking in the freeway.

~Hollywood forever. an essay to write for your enjoyment.

Whiskey induced kisses; i really do love you,

Digress. 

The new chapter

as one page turns
another exposes the fine print
of what is yet to come.
allowing the pages to continue to fall
you can always go back
and see
see what once was.
to be left with the pages turned
and hidden in between the folded pages.
yet you left the window open and the pages turn,
quickly or slowly
back and forth from what was to what is.
now it's time to close the chapter of what was
and start writing a new one
exposing the only fine print
that you wish you could've seen.
slowly my pages have been turning
and i've been going back and forth
not allowing my new chapter to be written
now it's my chance
and i don't want to just yet.
i turned the pages back.
back to the day i felt safe.
only to find the wind blowing me back
to this scary part that i'm about to write.
i will never find myself peeking back at the pages
that once were.
but i know that all the pages to come
are because of what WAS.
a new page was written.
a new chapter just started.

Slipping subtle supplements of her instead of you, never seem to change the way I see the morning dew

As I carried her home she talked about such glorious things like sex and drugs and those moments in life when you are too fucked up to function.
I tried to explain to her about long poems, staring at her eyes and moments in life where you fell alive, but she didn’t hear me.
She was thinking different things while she dreamed on my shoulder.
When she was passed out on the floor she couldn’t understand that for the first time in my life I was right about something.
So I sat down uncomfortably in her room, and watched her sleep soundly half naked on the floor next to her bed, and I lit a cigarette.
I don’t put it out, but let it burn down to my finger tips and leave me slightly scared, so I don’t forget the night I finally spoke of love in a form I understood it.
I drove to the gas station, thought it would have been faster to walk, mostly cause walking would give me too much time to think about her waiting by her window, and besides, the headlights on the road somehow validate the lies I tell myself about the short comings of my life.
I promised myself that night that I would never let her tell me she loved me and mean it again, cause I could never tell her I love her and feel it again.

A Sign From Yves Tanguy.

i am prudent enough

to view superstition

as boondoggle

but

i am ascetic enough

to subscribe to it.

and now,

i find myself 

set aback

at my conclusion that

there is always something 

building towards me

building towards you

to expurgate our happiness

no matter which god you

favor.

~New cars, full of joy; old habits, full of anguish.

I don't have the right bandages for sexual healing,

Digress. 

Means:

they say its better to have loved and lost,
than to never have loved at all....
bull sh**.
save yourself while you can.
to have never loved means,
means to never have had your heart ripped out of your chest,
to never have had your lungs exploded up into your throat,
causing you to word vomit things you dont really mean.
save your tears for something else,
because Lord knows, they arent worth it.
to have never loved saves your brain from shooting out the top of your head.
never love. never ever.
to have never loved saves many gained hours of sleep.
to have never loved puts money back into your pocket.
they never loved you.
shut off, turn around, never look back.
never love. again.

poor ol' Kenny

He saw so many umbrellas when he fell from the sky that he thought the ground had grown a multitude of eyes. They opened wide. Dancing, water proof, multicolored vinyl beetles with pupils. The rush of air pulled back his lips into an ironic smile that he caught in the windows of the building he had just jumped off of.

Every night for two years straight he dreamt about this moment, and now it was finally happening.

Figures it would be raining, he thought.

A bird flew just underneath his torso, squawking madly and losing a feather. He tried to laugh but the rush of air had completely vacuumed out his voice.

Holy shit, he thought.

He suddenly realized how fast he was going. And that he had forgotten to go to confession. His Roman Catholic Grandmother had perpetually warned him of purgatory, and worse-- hell. He never completely bought it but went through with the motions just in case.

He couldn't remember if suicide was a mortal sin, but if it was, he wasted a lot of years reciting bullshit. And if God wasn't real, he wasted a lot of years reciting bullshit. And even if God was real, but he wasn't Catholic, then he wasted a lot of years reciting bullshit. The odds seemed against him either way.

Oops, he thought.

And then the standard pre-death memories started flashing before his eyes, too quickly to digest. Driveways and trains and tree houses and fences and then everything paused at seventeen years old. He was staring down, and he could still see the streets and umbrellas but he could also see threads on a quilt with ants crawling along the stitches.

"Baby let's get up there's gross bugs," his high school girlfriend had said.
"That's how picnics are supposed to be."
"I thought they were supposed to be romantic!"

The rest of his thirty-six years of life didn't have time to play.

And in that split second before hitting the concrete he changed his mind about wanting to die. But of course he did. Wouldn't you?

desire

i think about you far too often.
though you were entirly too easy to get over.
being around you this much a year later, breaks my soul.
you have mood far too fast.
i trail you in the dust when it come to love.
jealousy bleeds from my eyes.
jealous of your new found love.
i cry to let my weakness leave my body.
this smile is only fooling you.
my broken heart is tucked away deep inside my shallow breathing chest.
as my lungs take in the fresh air, of each new breat, my heart barly beats.
this body needs love.
these lips need to be embraced.
my hands need to be held.
but right now,
no love is better than your love.
and His love is better than all love.
this heart will soon be remembered.
thanking Him, and praying to Him.
i now know my hearts desire.

Tanks of Rust.

verge of death

end of hope

foreshadowing clarity

discrimination of the soul

hole in heart,

eternity growing larger

plain to see my eyes are gouged

spoonfuls of indigence being force fed

asleep at the wheel pondering dreams

conjuring thoughts of malodorous things

violence in my blood and daggers in my genes

pyramids of laughter being silenced by the scene

victimless crimes the infamy of design

the temperature festoons the highest line

covered in rust, dust, and slime

can't find the strength to get up and climb

eighteen wheels moving fast

pick a ride and follow the tracks

i'm heading out of here on straw that breaks backs

last lap and final coat, tell me where to shack

i set my self on fire for your capricious posture

now not knowing what to do, i sit and wait

drinking quickly to erase the pain of silence

no answer when questions asked and that's the issue

send mail to get mail, i wasn't expecting this.

ashtrays on the third planet swell to the size of seas

burning trees with souls filled with disease

filling whole hearts with cement, i no longer believe to repent

pills of anger and solicitations from beldams

posing no threats but causing all to reinvent

bedlam in the kitchen, sorrow in the cement

cement in the heart, violence in the blood,

pain in the water, relief in the whiskey,

it's not the sun, and it's not the moon

it's right in-between the stars and the fingernails

the expanse of nothing

agoraphobia and my deepest concern.

open ocean

haze at night

backwards image

mirror in the hallway

pens and paper for Yves Tanguy

a kiss to Matta

love letter to Georges Braque

and thoughts about Van.

and the one thing i'll never have

i have eighteen minutes left...

dress me up in plastic.

~Does anybody know?

Love,

Digress.

Doors

You reach for the handle, another door just waits for you to open it.
You grab on and twist.
The small creek of the opening door is all you hear
then you are
there, alone,
on a new path,
another door,
you just opened it.
You found a new way
a light that was once dim is now bright.
You reached out and found something to help.
You couldn't find the answers before,
now everything happens for a reason.
The door is creeking closed behind you.
A new life.
A new world.
One that was waiting to be discovered
not by everyone that has already opened the door
but by you.
The one that the door was made for.
The guideing hand helped you see
but now it's your time to run
to see where life can take you
to see where this door opened to.
run with it.
find your unsolved answers
find the truth in the words.

Dedication

Because this is a work of fiction, its dedication is as follows:

for Lazarus,

for the soon-found souls

every awkward kiss

the mistaken agendas inside ulterior motives

mending broken hearts

Your inanities

my Pretension

dedication

my terrible professors

the impossibility of existence

escape

the slow-cold drips of blood from my brain to my oil pan

Ascari A10

Oliver Cromwell (Lord Protector)

Keeping it Pithy

and Santa Fe Books (where would I be without you?)

not to mention my secretly developing dementia. 

In addition, I would like to not only thank but to also reciprocate the help of:

Eighteen minutes

the Doomsday clock

Death Letters

Suicide Notes

embellishment

spelling errors

and terrible grammar

Tonight, kind sir, I drink to you as well.

~Technological Regressionist who feels strongly for Assemblage.

Love letters to you Picasso,

Digress.

No Answer

I once knew there was something wrong with me

.

Lately the feeling

is that of

knowing 

something is wrong with you

.

But the feeling

is more communal

, like school pride

--which I lack deeply

--that something

is wrong with

us

and

as a whole

we are no good

.

So it's back to the

drawing boards

to develop more

crass and ignorant 

; bottom-feeders with growths, claws, and esurient

for anything that was once buoyant

.

And I wonder

what will happen to the

menageries when humanity has

departed with Earth?

~The best that I can.

Heart,

Digress.

Driving Slowly

I am a morbid person

Most 

strangers

think

that

I of 

all

are the

most

daft

.

Little

time

do they

invest

in thoughts

of mine

for

when

I hear

them 

talk

in their

banal

tones

, I cringe

to be

not only

in their

presence

but in

their

range

of oration

is the

most

courteous

and

benign 

thing

I can

do

for them

.

Later

, I will

commiserate

loudly

to the

ever 

dying

walls

and

try with 

all my

desire

that I

evaporate

.

No

Avail

.

Ever

.

~Happy Week. Happy Hour. Happy Month. Happy Birthday.

Heart,

Digress.