i can meet everyone
i can also meet everyone
i can also do also almost nothing
and remain alone
compromise
it's the best possibility
the things in our dreams do not exist
it's a fairy tale once told
they'll fight you for a parking space
and rip out your eyes
sleep now....
tomorrow it'll hurt a little less

some of the times

some of the times a song says it better

Gimme all the hate you feel.
Binge and purge
All over, cannot change, we’re gonna destroy.
Breathe in the sea of seas, we’re in this together.

Random hearts that beat for each other,
Random hearts in a cruel, cruel world.

I don’t care what they hear
I know the way, say same.
Broken fingers for broken chords.
The effort is indelible,
The frequency is not decay.
We’re in this together.

Random hearts that beat for each other,
Random hearts in a cruel, cruel world.

The only world you’ll ever know
Is what you see in a movie.
Suburban TV babies,
We share the same accent.
American disillusion.
We’re in this together.

Random hearts that beat for each other,
Random hearts in a cruel, cruel world

It Burns When We Piss

we as people surround ourselves with pleasure
we as people submerse ourselves with happiness
we as people criticize everything
and never care for anything
we put holes in our chest
where our feelings use to be
and we don't even acknowledge the strangers
on the street
so many people pass their whole day without
acknowledgment
i'll admit, at times it's really not
worth caring for
i find myself talking with strangers
and occasionally making my way away from them
i talk and mumble as i turn my back
and i run from them
the phone never rings
the computer never weeps
and the blank space in my passenger seat
will always be filled
even if it's imaginary...

It's All Guaranteed

it's hopeless out here,
in a world ruled by fashion
in a society ruled by discontent
in a place where no one can be free
mentally
it's dreamless out here,
walking zombies
blood sucking leeches
they stick to your heart and brain
and suck every pure thing out of you until
you can no longer be what you were when you
decided what you wanted and how you wanted
your reality to correspond
it all ends the same
badly
what have we learned?
laugh at everything
and understand nothing
taunt everyone
and subconsciously destroy every living
being
we can all erase pictures and notes,
we can burn possessions at the steak
we can tell ourselves all day,
that things are gone
but your memory can destroy you
as it tried to destroy me before
as it will try to destroy me again
you may not know why you are even here
but you also realize that it's not to be here
or there
drive out to the mountains
drive out to the sea
nothing waits for you out there
like nothing waits here for me

the hat

the hat wears itself
out that is
the hat has sweat stains
and a band around it,
sometimes it doesn't get worn for awhile
sometimes it gets worn out
it stinks
but the hat never tries to be here
or be there
or be everywhere
the hat is exactly that
a hat
it's not perfect in any way
flaws all over the goddamn place
and it's an obstruction to beauty
it's just ridiculous for something like this
to even exist
but it does
its here in my lap now
my hat
dirty nasty mangled old hat
i don't know why i like you
you're an inanimate object
you don't love or hate, or lust or press forth
you can be worn by anyone,
but not everyone
save me
oh hat
make me

The Quiet One

we're both sitting here
it's dense

i actually can't stop

this is one of those rare moments where i can't stop, i want to keep going, nobody reads this shit anyway, out of all the blogs out here, i don't even know why you would end up here? it's kind of predictable in a way, the guy writing about how much he wants people to dislike him probably has some of the coolest people ever made on this fucking earth reading his blabbering bullshit, but all writers are bullshit of course, it's just he way you use your words, you don't really care for plot or character build up, it's all a load of shit, you want honest things don't you? you want a guy who will say what you're thinking without any sense of remorse, at least that's what i like, maybe i am off a bit, i've been off a bit since i can remember, but lately i've been thinking, alot actually, i'm actually pretty normal, maybe every once and a while i write something that people can look back on, and say, "oh shit, that was good," but every dog has his day right? i do believe in one thing though, that these words that i write keep me from having pent up, pathetic, aggression, they keep me from doing bad things, i'll keep on thinking it's a normal life, but i'll add my own twist to it, that's the best part of all this, i'm actually not writing so you can pat me on the back, i'm writing so i can work this all out on paper, it's like a huge fucking math equation, it never ends, fucking long division right?

this will never stop
it's constant
it'll outlast.
even you.

don't actually believe for a second that i'm serious about any of this. or am i? no... actually i'm not... really. or? no..

we all ask for honesty in persons,
but we can't believe our fucking ears,
so we all ask for pretentious sayings,
and we still can't believe our fucking ears,
so we all build walls,
brick by stupid humiliating brick,
it's useless on that side,
but that's the side everyone's on,
i'll tell you what,
i'll chill on the honest side,
and maybe someone will peak their head over on that side,
and decide that that side isn't so bad
maybe they'll actually dislike that side
and shoot balled up pieces of newspaper at me
it's cool
i'll still be on this side
we ask for so much
but respect so little
we all ask for a piece of the pie
but we're all full
don't assume for a second,
or even two seconds,
that whatever happens between here and there
really isn't worth your time,
your plagiarism,
one day,
you'll be almost gone,
and wonder exactly where it all went bad,
it's too late
it's a little too late
it's actually really too late
you should of done what was suppose to be done,
but you held back
and now,
now,
now you want to wind the clock back at least 20 years
for all the nonsense, the belonging, was never for me
breath
breath man
i'm telling you to breath!

i was eating porridge at a bar, and i got in a fight with a marine, the bartender gave me free coffee and then informed me that i had won a prize, he unrolled a large piece of paper scroll style, and drawn on it, was an archangel who would take me to heaven, i ran away.

Don't think Twice

"do you see it?"
"yeah"
"don't just shake your head yes and not really see it, do you fucking see it? is the question"
"not really"
we were both standing there, out in the sun, on the grass, with our shoes off, both wearing hats, i had my glasses on, he squinted a bit
"let me ask you a question"
"shoot"
"why do you insist on not believing?"
"fatalistic?"
"bullshit"
"it's all here man, all around you, in the grass and in the wine, in the gin and in the food, it's all here, it's come down to this, it's everything and nothing and somethings and sometimes, you need to really open your fucking eyes man, take your head out of the sand and really believe it, not just embrace it, or even pet it, believe it, make it apart of you, butcher it into your consciousness, it's all here, it's all in your hand. now look at your hand and think about whats here and how it got here."
i thought for a long time, i bit my lip, silence set in, i closed my eyes, i didn't want to be here, i didn't want to be doing this, and especially around all these people, i wanted to crawl right back into bed and let the day progress, i felt forced and tricked, i was vulnerable, all these things were destroying me, i wished i was stupid. when i reached down to check my phone, he punched me in the chest, i stumbled back and landed right on my ass, i put my head down and held it between my hands, this was it, it was either me or the butcher, i couldn't let it end like this.
"how?"
"feel it"
"and who?"
"everyone"
my heart hurt right where he hit me, it was hard to breath and i almost wanted to say fuck this and just head right back into my car, but when i motioned to get up he slapped me, i've never been slapped, stings a bit.
"now i want you to repeat this: this is syndrome."
"this is a syndrome"
"be yourself"
"be myself"
"think, but don't think"
"eh?"
"THink but don't think!" he motioned to hit me again
"think but don't think"
"do"
"wha?"
i said "do"
"do"
now you can go.
i got up, dusted the grass from my pants and squawked at the crows, they were all laughing, i laughed back, we both walked back to the car, he put his hand on my shoulder
"you did alright kid"
"thanks"

and that's the glory of it all

Rasputin

Rasputin

To awaken, naked, covered in vomit is not a good way to begin. Head throbbing and neck muscles tense, I uncurled from the fetal position and began putting my face back on. Staggering into the bathroom I slurped at the water faucet like some kind of famished dog. Projectile vomiting ensued. Easing my way back onto the bed, I began recollecting the previous nights events.
I had come into possession of six peyote buttons from a mutual friend who we will call Hank. I was already plastered by the time he placed the satchel in my lap so I figured, “why not?” Chewing the first of what would become 4 buttons I was immediately drawn to the texture of it. Almost like eating an artichoke, stringy and salty came to mind. I washed it down with some warm Pacifico and continued on.
My apartment was hot and getting hotter by the minute. I cracked some windows and poured myself some two-buck chuck wine and sat in my chair. Ohhh my chair; I found it on a side street near work. It was leather with a high back decorated with diamond inlay. Some degenerates had tagged on it and defaced a nice fucking chair. But I loved that thing; sitting lonesome, turned on it side, discarded on the street by some old man who probably sat in it watching M.A.S.H. while he was drinking scotch and smoking a Backwood Cigar. I had to bring that thing home. You should have seen the look on my brothers’ faces when I lugged it up the stairs. Fuck em’, they don’t have to sit in it.
About 20 minutes into my passionate chair loving, I decided to take a second dose. Button number two made me gag as soon as it hit my lips. Needless to say, it tasted like I had a sock in my mouth. The nausea was setting in, and the wine wasn’t helping any. To defuse my desire to vomit, I stuck my head out of my window for some fresh air. Lighting a cigarette and taking a drag, I started thinking about what life would be like if we could only see in black in white. Would we lose all passion for food? Art? What would racism be like? Would people be more into texture and shadows? You dig?
After tossing my cigarette onto my landlords car, I stuck my head back in and went to work on chewing the third one. These little fucks were starting to taste pretty good. Almost made me think of slapping some goat cheese on top with some grapes and making a party tray for the annual “Santiago” family Thanksgiving dinner.
I faded into the television for a while and watched “The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou”. I never noticed how Bill Murray never smiles, but delivers his lines with a smooth, charismatic voice and doesn’t try to be funny. He just is. He just is. I just am, as we all move about. Adjusting, nursing, screaming, crying, fighting, arguing, living, dying, breathing, sighing, jumping, dancing, fucking, sucking, kicking, groping, testing, driving, smoking, drinking, drinking, drinking,….. you dig?
By this time, I was not well. But in the tradition of my elders, I pushed on and chewed the fourth button for what felt like ten minutes. Standing up to refill my glass, I felt my earrings begin to weigh me down. My knees locked, and I could feel my blood pumping and oozing from every pore. I whimpered like puppy that got slapped in the nose with a rolled up “Time” magazine and fell to the floor. My bottom lip quivering, the last thing I saw was a pair of shoes running towards me. My eyes watered up and everything went a blur.
Blackout.
Sipping a frosty beverage with an umbrella, it was the middle of summer. I sat in a state of numbness, as my body was no longer connected to my limbs. I was free falling, to quote Tom Petty. Every move I made was not felt. I had to only think “it” and “it” would happen without even a bit of effort. Things manifested themselves in front of me. Pretty soon I had a nice setup going. Full bar, a couple Cuban cigars, some hot chicas in bikinis fanning me with huge feathers. I was living it up! I heard a loud squawk and looked up to see two crows hanging about on the phone line. Phone line? Who needs phones where I’m going? Then it happened. My cigar, gone. My chicas, gone. Even the bar. Ahh the bar.. please take anything but my precious bar.
The crows swooped down and perched on both my knees. I was scared to look at them, I knew they were there, but I refused to take my forearm away from my eyes. When I did manage to muster up the strength, I saw right into his deep black eye. Nothingness, eternal, deep, down, plague of hell nothingness. Suddenly he spoke: “Leave us alone”. I thought the bastards were going to peck out my eyeballs and have them for lunch. But they gave me a loving peck on each check, rustled their wings softly against my face, and flew away.
When they were gone, I felt this cold loneliness that comes when you haven’t held a warm hand for a very long time. You keep telling yourself that it’ll be all right, you don’t need the fucks, but it’s true. I could feel everything then. I could feel the emotions of millions of people deep down in the dark part of me. It made my stomach turn. I could feel the coldness of shadows and the warmth of the sun on my face. The desire of the boy who wants to become a man. The sweat dripping from the farmers’ brow as he plucked ripe, delicious grapes off the vine and treated them with care. Transforming them into wine that would reach a cold hard glass bottle and finally my warm fine hand and be devoured deep down into my blood stream and taken to my brain and make my vision less blurry and more tolerable. I could sense. I could feel. I could be.
The sun was beginning to shine its first rays into the apartment. The floor was colder than a Minnesota winter; it also didn’t help that I was buck ass naked. Crawling to my brothers’ room to find some kind of solace, I vomited on the carpet (and myself) and passed out cold.
My headache has subsided, and I am nursing some coffee to get my system back on track. I feel as though this might have been a good experience for me. Believe you me; I have a new respect for our black winged friend. I don’t think I’ll be doing much hunting anytime soon. Although I do hear duck season is underway. Now where’d I leave those other two peyote buttons?

For the Night

i was hiking up a large hill, there was a tree to my left, and a long corridor made of glass, the floor was concrete, i found myself in a dining room of a cottage, with people in their mid 40's sitting around a table, i had a tuxedo on, and i also had hair, which was weird, considering i've been bald for about 5 years now, we all talked, but none of the words seem to come to mind right now, all of a sudden, we all became very hyper, and began jumping on the table, and chasing each other around, i squirmed and ran away, i yelled, "i'll find the kids!", i entered a room with a bunk bed, next to it was a chair, i sat down, a bunch of kids in their 20's were sitting around watching a television set, nothing was playing on the screen, but i could hear the sounds, they asked me what i wanted, i told them that their parents were going mad and the madness was coming into me, do they have any pills for a come down? they did, i swallowed a handful of small white pills, i sat down again, the walls and ceiling began to breath, they moved around organically, everything was coming to life, i could count the breaths the house was taking, my feet were sinking into the carpet, which had now become quick sand, i put my feet up on the chair, just like that i was back to reality, the lights dimmed in the room, and some girl told me that ants were attacking my hat, (i left my hat on the floor outside the room) i looked out the door and saw something move around my hat, i ran out and grabbed it, when i looked in the direction of the room with the people my age in it, i saw Christmas lights, and they were undressing each other, i saw 4 girls and 2 guys, and the girls all had on dark green lace bra's and no panties, one of the girls walked over to me and put her hands around my neck, she said, "come back when you find the right girl for the night." she turned away and shut the door, i walked around for a while, thinking about this, finally it came to me, she said the right girl for the night, not the right girl, so really there is no right girl for this night, it's a cop out, i don't want to start something this way, i don't want to just grab someone and forget myself, i need solidity, i walked outside onto the patio and sprawled out on the couch, i fell asleep looking at the stars, which is funny, because this is a dream, and i've never fallen asleep in a dream before, i woke up (in my dream) in my room, in my bed, only my room was turned upside down, i was still wearing my tuxedo and i was bald again, as i got out of bed and went through the door, i woke up in real time, i was in my bed for a while, debating whether or not i should right this, but then i remembered nobody reads this shit, so it'll be a good little personal record i can keep and look back on.

what a fucking dream huh? it's like a "Brave New World".

Pop

sometimes i go here, and sometimes in my head
sometimes i sweat through the sheets
that cover over my decapitated head
often i jump to conclusions,
that have no validity except for the
conclusions i hop to in my head
in my head
in
my
head
in here,
as well as you should know,
nothing is ever as plain or plaid as it seems,
there is no pattern,
no sense of well being
daily
yes daily it's a constant struggle
but not in a bad way
i like to stack rocks
it's a thing i do
just like we all have things we do, to make some sense
or pennies,
however you see it
rattle, and tap, rattle at my bedroom window
tap your fingers against the glass
i can believe it

rewriter

i've written in this box at least 10 times in the last hour, and each time, i don't think it's good enough, i don't like it, i'm critical of it.

sometimes even your best isn't good enough

i'm forcing it, so i'll spare you the waste of time

haaammma who?

sometimes things are so be
they make you grind your goddamn teeth
sometimes things are so good
you smother and consume them like
you think you should
but today i was nobody else,
and i possibly more than once argued with myself
oh man don't you realize you lost from the beginning,
i had you from i can take you
i know your strength
put the typer on the counter like its 1929
pretend like it's all a goddamn forensic file
and examine it to the core
it'll be your worst own departure
but this is what it's like on the other side.

The Space Between

the space is growing larger, between realities i mean, so i medicate myself daily, with caffeine, nicotine, ephedrine and ibuprofen, it's hard out here for a hustler. movies fuck you up man, they make you see and believe and hope and dream for these illegitimate bullshit make believe tales. out here, greed and envy prevail, and the good guy gets pissed on constantly in the rat race of life, as he's trampled so everyone can be stylish and lose themselves in themselves.

it's watching the sun burn and the leaves dry out.

it's being spent and still pushing forth.

it's throwing up liquor that hasn't even been digested, it still has that stench.

poetry is dead
and music is singing it's death tune
i hope none of you understand
and i also hope you all hate my writing,
my cussing and incorrect use of words,
i wipe myself with "poetry" rules
although i am vulnerable
almost all the time
how can i be?
when this world no longer knows the term humanity?
i care too much, and that's probably my demise
anyone who is close to me will understand
i ask too many questions and think way beyond necessary,
but that's because i'm curious
and i do want to know
i saw an older lady, with a walking stroller,
get stuck between the doors of the metro,
and none of the bastards around me would help her
i had to stop, and wedge myself between the door
humanity
hardly any of us have it to begin with.

it's easy to be an asshole; just don't care. sit there, let people get crushed, say, "yeah whatever" and just let everything roll off your spine. it's too much of a task for you to put out your hand, so instead, you ball it into a fist and use it to pound against the walls you've built around yourself.

knock knows

when you breath,
it dissipates
and if all goes right, and exactly
just how it should
the wind will blow it my way,
and i'll inhale, deep down, forever true,
just like i'm suppose too
part me,
part you,
part of what i never thought i'd write
but that's the beauty of this thing
that it makes me go unexpectedly into the night
and crawl right along the edge of the rug
and down the road i can see a lamp burning for me
the place for travel to rest his head
financially, it'll all balance out
personally, it somehow makes a difficult stand
but all around,
it's where i'm good at
for this time
this place
for this is the piece
that we all need right now

Dah dum Doo Dah

... the dream you mean?
sure i'll tell you about the dream
so i'm standing there, doing laundry,
in a laundry the laundry place?
uhuh
ok. go on
and i'm folding my clothes, actually they're not my clothes,
they belong to somebody else, but i'm folding, and i start getting
to the bottom of the basket, as i reach down for my last pair of socks
i look up and there's this guy with glasses, and he has this bloody
red ball of mass in his hands
uhuh
well i wipe my nose with my arm, and would you believe this,
the fucker is holding a piece of my brain
what the?
yup.
anyway, he has this big cup, with a bunch of sharpened pencils in it.
and he's stabbing your brain?
no exactly stabbing, he's breaking off the tips of the pencils into it
can you feel it?
not really, but every time he breaks off a tip my thumb twitches and
the screen flickers
you're nuts.
not me, the dream is nuts.
so what do you think it means?
i think maybe it means that i should start using pencils and stay away from pens
that doesn't make any sense
who's the one talking sense here?
what do you think.
i think you should stop projecting
i'm not projecting, you're projecting
would the two of you shut up i'm trying to figure something out here
.....

Mediator

stop it
no.
stop kicking the back of my seat or god help me
i'll pull this fucker over and beat you with a golf club
pfffttt...
from the passenger
so what do you think? should we go on with this?
my only worry is that someone might interpret this the wrong way,
in which case i'll end up back on the bright side.
it shouldn't matter
easy for you to say, you don't have to confront what i do,
you can just dissipate and nobody will ever know the difference.
but you'll know.
yeah i will..
from the backseat
i'm hungry man, lets get some hash browns and jam
no dough
that's always your excuse, yet you find dough for the cake.
piss off man.
hey, what if we pretend it's all a game?
what? when did you get here.
i've been here, i just don't really ever say anything unless necessary.
and you find it necessary now?
uhhhh.. yeah
the man has a point.
yeah, this guy over here (motions with thumb)
he's got a point.
ok, so lets do it, hash browns and jam and we'll play the game
let's just not get carried away, remember who's in charge here.
hey, everybody be cool man, it's a cop.

we all slumped down in our seats

Conversations with Oneself Before Stepping into the Bathtub

"it's cold in here"
i agree
"you really should of waited longer to get in, or out"
negative, the water was warm and ready, almost calling for me, so i jumped right on in, whatever the end result is, i'll deal with it.
"you're not understanding, what if it's not the right temp and you throw everything off, you're really going to piss into the wind for this?"
i will
"you're a stubborn bastard, but i like it, you dedicate yourself to things, that might just be your end."
i'll be
"damned you mean?"
of course
"don't forget how bad it might get along the way, you are going to want to give up several times, and it might not even be for the right cause."
that doesn't matter
".. what do you mean it doesn't matter?"
what i mean, (i put my hand on his shoulder at this point)
is that it might not be perfect, i might get worse, or i might get better, i can stand here all day arguing with you, but the water will only get colder. so lets settle on this, shall we? the temperature of the water doesn't matter right now, only the water itself, it surrounds me just like i want it to, it washes the dirty from me, and it makes me relaxed, if at some point, this furthers my sickness and i fall into a coma, then so be it, at which point, i would like my room to be painted mauve and to be covered in cherry blossoms, and i want a crown, a crown while i sleep.
too think to far into it
i'm just pissing into the wind.

cough, sigh, hack hack

the typewriter sits in her case,
lonely, under my desk, waiting,
i feel her kicking at night,
sometimes i can hear the clicks in my head,
and i can see it grow legs and walk up onto my chest,
and scream, "fucking do something!"
i'm scared
what if it's not good?
fuck it if it's not good,
i'll use the pages to wipe the snot from my nose
or the blood from my calluses
this keyboard is too hallow for me,
i need interaction.
give me interaction!
you don't understand do you?
you shouldn't
it's one of the those things you keep close to your heart
locked away in the cellar doors of your mind
to be awaken with the sun shooting through your blinds
as the morning cold runs up your toes and grabs your
balls and squeezes them tight so you have to place the pillow
right between your legs for some kind of warmth
she's starring at me now
the typewriter i mean
i'm faithful i swear,
i've just been busy with work,
don't hate me, you know i do my best writing on you,
just give me a minute to get in place,
in a good place and a good movement,
i don't want to waste you on some bullshit story about
the death of moths
.

Catch a Body Coming Through the Rye

park bench
and Christmas lights
macaroni and cheese
melted and gooey
spaghetti O's
oh!
newspaper wasteland
tumbleweeds neverland
and freeway overhangs
huddle masses under awnings
and holes with shoes
socks drenched with gutter water
through and through
straight to the soul
and down into the blood
streaming cheeks
covered with traces of mercury
and decided to reopen the letter
sealed with milk mustache
pistachio shells crumble underfoot
and the nurse tightens the clamps
this white room isn't big enough
for the three of us
so get the fuck out

Box Town

Here lies Hugo,
down in box town,
where the walls crumble like cookies,
from the rain soaking into ourselves,
where there's no communication ,
and no sense of direction,
no beginning to an ending
for the box people
nobody takes a breath,
for the air we breath is not worth breathing,
nor is ourselves worth saving,
denial is our best friend,
and the starvation is just a fact to face,
a phase to pass by,
a window to roll down and spit out of,
and a perfect world for the ones who left
and are living too far out of bounds.
sometimes i feel destined for box town,
but more often than not, i feel my chest
i feel my heart
and realize that a place for runaways is not
exactly what i want
so at night
i pull my blankets up tight
and await the sunrise
await the first taste of smog
when you're alone
all you have is time to think
so it makes communication harder
than what human beings can take

It's not always about the rock

it feels forced today,
nothing can flow, nothing can be made,
the trees all seem to be swinging
incorrectly
not to my desire
i don't want to answer my phone,
or salute the dirty bastards walking down the street
i want to spend the day in my head,
which makes it hard when you have so much
around you to interact with
maybe that's how people lose it?
by spending too much time in their heads,
and not taking part in whats constantly changing
and moving, and growing and once a upon a timing
maybe i should of fought harder?
made my voice heard a little louder?
maybe i should of wrote something?
or sent someone something?
or just done something!
no.
you can't beat yourself up for the things
that washed down the street into the pile
just make sure i remember this part
make it a part of you
to remember this part.

Baaaaahhhhh! yes! lets go!

the pain resides,
i can breath a little easier,
the sky seems a little overcast,
the situation seems a bit breezy,
the contestants on the game show seem uncertain,
and i seem unhinged,
my throat, bare bone dry, due to cigarette inhalation
my hands all cut up and damaged
how?
i dunno?
dirty fingernails, face without a shave in
i don't really count or know just how many days
my gut hanging way over my waist line
"the pixies dancing on my head"
glass cutting up and slashing my skin
and school children will eventually one day,
feel exactly this
dig it
dig it for what it is
donate a rib or a spine
some people don't even use theirs
so whats the deal if they don't have it?
give it to someone who needs it
someone who would bleed their veins for it
i withdraw
and stand upon the roof
drinking my orange juice,
looking down over the rolling hills,
i take my thumbs and stick them in my belt loops
and feel right at home.