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.

boys and girls, college

this pill has lasted me, oh, about 10 and a half hours. and honestly, i'm still in a good mood. but what i am writing about is to tell what college entails.

i took this pill in order to finish a 15 page paper.
it was for cognitive science,
a piece on
cross-cultural and sex differences in frames of references, spatial perception and linguistics.

as i saved my masterpiece,
i referred back to the online syllabus.

and on that syllabus i found
the due date.

and it was on monday.
next monday.

and i took the pill to finish it for saturday.

and that boys and girls,
is college.

U S of A

                1

it is semaphore gore

on and off the screen

the images pour

right before we've scene

along the lines of kitsch

bloody murder winth

more feelings than fish

flash upon the city plinth

we hath not unveiled

any evidence of the lost

we'll keep our eyes pealed

for the life you tossed

                2

civil servants are wont

to seek the praise unearned

i know of one who does not tote

the laud which is deserved

tis not the learner's duty

nor the books he reads

to keep interest in study

a teacher must plant the seeds

to start a farm

land is not a contemplation

there starts the ball of yarn

and begins the fruitful gestation

                3

palpable and forsooth

living without youth

without a truth

keeps open minds at bay

so praise be to the U S of A

most know not why to war we came

some submit taxes were to blame

others say land did the trick just the same

and now we confuse freedom with fame

not knowing how like this we became

so hoping to imbue

a bit of light to you

might not leave switches down

and light bulbs with peal sounds

~Dear Kiki. dear diary. dear death. near seth.

Reverence,

Digress.

Human Tragedy.

We've been wasting plastic

on

trying to remember what Pachelbel's Cannon

sounds like

right now

Penderecki is convincing me

that Ghosts are not the

scariest thing

in the world

but rather that

the idea of ghosts

instil more fear

than anything

else

in these forgotten halls

behind the peeling paint

lies the answers

of when

it all went wrong

how the 

horror did erupt in those early

hours

men engulfed in flames

only fit for science fiction

a city of 200,000 being forced

from homes

houses

and livings

what horror did erupt

that warranted the forever abandonment of

100 square kilometres 

now there sits

a city of ghosts

on the river of vestiges

that feeds the lake of tragedy

and when the winds are high

there is nobody to shut the door

nobody to fix the breakers;

nobody to close the window when

the snow falls

nobody

living

anymore

~It's common.

Fearfully,

Digress.

Days Go Past

painting portraits of loneliness
coming across miniature gems of distant memories

~We look stupid... hail to Alberto Ascari; a true demigod.

Hate,

Digress.

investments

there is nothing like
like finding a real love,
nothing like a real person to love you.
grasping the meaning of your own life
and sharing it with someone else.
i now know what real love is like,
only to be adjusted for inflation,
like nominal income is on paper,
like inflation brings down the income about
4%.
only with this love,
inflation is -4
and love is not an expenditure.
like the congress makes decisions,
the democrats rule this nation,
heaven forbid this realtionship goes to hell,
just as i know our country will.
the man in charge of my heart is nothing
nothing compared to our new idiot president.
his job, as is mine to not change me for i am
perfect
the
way
i
am.
but as this country fades into nothingness
and the whole world falls apart
i know that unlike the massiah
he will protect me and never change anything
things are the way they are
like the economy is in shambles
my heart has gained 3000%
the market may drop
but all the more reason to invest in love.

She Moves Swiftly, Speaks Sweetly

She move swiftly to hit me and take me off my feet quickly
My first and only victory in my broken hearted history.
She speaks sweetly to greet me and take me back a step neatly
A mystery full of misery and contemplating chivalry
Knowing things I see will never really get through to me.
And that she will pay the greatest price, the finders finder fee.
Watching walls through telescopes, looking for your face
Holding onto hope that can’t last another day.
Forcing fading smile that were never meant to stick
Sliding by your heart, reverberating slick.
Losing sounds and losing ground on what I meant to say.
Slipping subtle supplements of her instead of you, never seem to change the way I see the morning dew.

You Couldn't Blame Her For Giving Up

She gets me, and the fact that I move nowhere quickly, and I try to move bur fall down slickly. No epiphany, just broken hearted misery of my own self tyranny, and not falling asleep briskly. So I contemplate amphetamines, and relapse hard on nicotine, and try to forget the broken scene of living with what I deemed to be the only way to ream the seeds of what I decided life could be. I want to move on, be strong for my mom and learn to live with a different song. But I sit, linger over it, and wait for sleep to come in fits. I cannot quit for fear that it will be over quick and ill care about something more than this shit.

200 mg

It's not that I haven't thought about it for awhile, or that I don't constantly think of it every day. But I was walking home, with some kind of girly shit on my iPod. It was good though, a good 2:00 song. Anyways, I get a kick out of those speed traps. Flashing at every car. And the leaves on the ground, so crunchy. The fact that I have business cards can never, ever stop me from crunching on those leaves. I even do a two-step, making sure I get that real curled up one. And I walk into my house, slide open the glass door. It's quiet. It smells like the Febreze candle I bought. Like $6. I'm out of breath, and I have an idea. I'm going to stop thinking. And then I think about it.

Smile at my answer, leave me laughing.

I've been watching your world from afar

by the way- vote for OBAMA/BIDEN!!!

I was out of your league....

and you were 20,000 underneath the sea, waving affections.

You were out of my league at a distance that I didn't want to see.

Down to the bottom, I wanted a junction, and often there was one.

You'd surface face first and we'd share thought bubbles.

And I still believe in the phrases that we breathed, but I know the distance isn't fair to cross.

I was out of your league....

and you were 20,000 underneath the sea, waving affections.

You were out of my league at a distance that I didn't want to see, wanted you nearer.

Your depths made a pressure that punctured my works and all your fluids couldn't tolerate the force of my thirst.

I love the place, where we shared our tiny grace.

But just because it's real don't mean it's going to work!

I was out of your league....

and you were 20,000 underneath the sea, waving affections.

You were out of my league at a distance that I didn't want to see, wanted you nearer.

And true affection floats.

True affection sinks like a stone.

I never felt so close.

I never felt so all alone.

I was out of your league....

Cossonances of Disaster

bringing you to the brink of boundless energy

showing and not telling you the affects of my madness

psychosis sets sounds inside the soft tissues

grey matter dies when bodies dangle from aortic tension

lilies lost in the loving of last lines

crushing the doubts of finding sole mates

touching toes in shoes for those experiencing throes

of teenage love washed up on seas saltier than tears

rivals writhe with rife ridiculousness 

today will be the cornerstone of my disappearance 

because brotherhood is bothering the best blisters

growing up will never be so dark a closet

bleaching bodies with boldly belted baritone bouts

last screams are fornicating with the strangled dreams

conforming to the continuity conducive to connivence

conning the family that never supported the endeavour 

standing for self serving subordination

proving that playtime is the best time for planning

lingering in thoughts of living loves and loving the un-living

tomorrow will dawn and the dead will be forgotten

leaving letters leading to the living ludicrousness

ne'er impacting the world leaves me alone

depression dips deep in the drawers of destiny

and we shall see the darkness' impotence

~Where do you go when your sun has set? scales of one to ten--how uncomfortable are you with it?

I have homework for you.

Give me reading:

Love,

Digress.

Second Hand

they are times likes these that

I think of

Richard Wagner

writing Siegfried Idyll

and of

Van Gogh

quickly removing an ear

I think of John Donne

using a flea to express

himself

I think

of how I am

so compelled

by the way you breathe

when the moon has not yet 

risen 

but the sun has completely

set

and how your concealed legs

take the shape of 

a Mediterranean paradise

and the

way dessert is

so many

times more comforting when

we make it

together

and then

they are times like these

I realise 

mornings can sometimes be greeted 

with

open arms and black pupils

~Tchaikovski (Чайковский). and benadryl.

Love,

Digress

A Key Please

on the brink of time 

finding success in distance

never to admit

one steel rail stretching

from socialism to pain

establishing forever

lost inside last place

found in the vertical space

dividing today

~tomorrow forever. No Longer for i,

Love,

digress.

No More Love And i'm Still Standing.

looking past the iron-clad lamplight

above--an expansion of vacuum.

~forever home.

Love,

Digress.

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.