when has my coffee ever been so cold.
december .where has it been .i'm waiting.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Epic Tales # 2
"Welcome to Dewclaw. Here, you will find guns, ammunition, drugs and easy women."
Yes, it was a wild place. You really should have seen it. It was a speck of shit on a toilet paper map. It's streets were home to many a scavenger in search of easy work. One corner, known as Easy Street, was where the pimps sold their product. Fine women draped in silk and gold were handed out like candy canes on Christmas. Easy Street was no stranger to married businessmen who peddled lust. A hotel near by was where these patrons held their court. From what I hear, the rooms were gorgeous.
The next corner was just as sleazy. A tall man in a burgundy sport coat dealt hands of cold pleasure for just under $60. The concrete bench where transactions were executed was the closest thing to a five star restaurant you could find in that general area. It was complete with candles, spoons and all sorts of exquisite desserts. Although these dishes were often wonderfully proportioned, sometimes a little over eating could cause sickness. Saint Ann's across the street was the perfect after dinner mint.
In an alley, not to far from there, sat God. He was more beautiful then anyone could have imagined. He was often crying and would brandish a gun on any mother fucker that tried to get in his way. The pearly gates of his stacked soda crate heaven were visited by many in search for redemption in one way or another. Every disciple received an aluminum cross, courtesy of the good people at Coca Cola. He could only laugh when they thought they would be saved.
And last, but not least, was the kindergarten.
Yes, it was a wild place. You really should have seen it. It was a speck of shit on a toilet paper map. It's streets were home to many a scavenger in search of easy work. One corner, known as Easy Street, was where the pimps sold their product. Fine women draped in silk and gold were handed out like candy canes on Christmas. Easy Street was no stranger to married businessmen who peddled lust. A hotel near by was where these patrons held their court. From what I hear, the rooms were gorgeous.
The next corner was just as sleazy. A tall man in a burgundy sport coat dealt hands of cold pleasure for just under $60. The concrete bench where transactions were executed was the closest thing to a five star restaurant you could find in that general area. It was complete with candles, spoons and all sorts of exquisite desserts. Although these dishes were often wonderfully proportioned, sometimes a little over eating could cause sickness. Saint Ann's across the street was the perfect after dinner mint.
In an alley, not to far from there, sat God. He was more beautiful then anyone could have imagined. He was often crying and would brandish a gun on any mother fucker that tried to get in his way. The pearly gates of his stacked soda crate heaven were visited by many in search for redemption in one way or another. Every disciple received an aluminum cross, courtesy of the good people at Coca Cola. He could only laugh when they thought they would be saved.
And last, but not least, was the kindergarten.
WiiR
We are starving.
We are useless.
We are what society threw away.
We are poor.
We are struggling.
We are trying to make something
out of nothing.
We are tired.
We are scared.
We are in need of a future.
We are this.
We are that.
We are the anti celebrities.
We are refused.
We are denied.
We are everything you hate.
We are religious.
We are faithful.
We are praying.
We are useless.
We are what society threw away.
We are poor.
We are struggling.
We are trying to make something
out of nothing.
We are tired.
We are scared.
We are in need of a future.
We are this.
We are that.
We are the anti celebrities.
We are refused.
We are denied.
We are everything you hate.
We are religious.
We are faithful.
We are praying.
The Great Wall of Relapse
Every time I find the path, it leads me to a wall.
Marijuana, Buddhism, Booze, Taoism, Psychology, freedom, love, pills, mind, blood, happiness, age, wisdom, cough syrup, faith, and teen-aged girls cloud my path.
I can find an argument to love, or hate, all the above. And so can all of you. If you can't, then I ask this simple question.
Are you human?
Marijuana, Buddhism, Booze, Taoism, Psychology, freedom, love, pills, mind, blood, happiness, age, wisdom, cough syrup, faith, and teen-aged girls cloud my path.
I can find an argument to love, or hate, all the above. And so can all of you. If you can't, then I ask this simple question.
Are you human?
Monday, December 10, 2007
Cocaine
i pulled into the station just after four a.m.
after a night of lights and cocaine.
so i lit another cigarette,
take it in and let it out again,
only to watch my world fly by,
from state line to state line.
the starting out of daylight,
on a one lane highway.
with nothing but mountains
in the rear view,
and a picture of you on the dash.
and me,
my problem is i'm always right.
i argue for the sake of argument.
i argue it's raining when it's not,
i argue for the sake of argument.
i disagree to make things harder.
and when you give in,
i push a little more.
i argue for the sake of being right,
but i'm not.
and up ahead now out on sixteen,
it's just about six a.m.
stop at the all-night diner,
and flick away the ash.
just like i do,
with everything else.
and i know there's more to life than this.
but i just haven't found it yet.
so welcome to,
"bievennue."
my hearts still on 5th avenue.
the postcard stated clearly in words,
"you do what you want. i don't want to get hurt."
it's where you are,
you do what you want.
after a night of lights and cocaine.
so i lit another cigarette,
take it in and let it out again,
only to watch my world fly by,
from state line to state line.
the starting out of daylight,
on a one lane highway.
with nothing but mountains
in the rear view,
and a picture of you on the dash.
and me,
my problem is i'm always right.
i argue for the sake of argument.
i argue it's raining when it's not,
i argue for the sake of argument.
i disagree to make things harder.
and when you give in,
i push a little more.
i argue for the sake of being right,
but i'm not.
and up ahead now out on sixteen,
it's just about six a.m.
stop at the all-night diner,
and flick away the ash.
just like i do,
with everything else.
and i know there's more to life than this.
but i just haven't found it yet.
so welcome to,
"bievennue."
my hearts still on 5th avenue.
the postcard stated clearly in words,
"you do what you want. i don't want to get hurt."
it's where you are,
you do what you want.
Horses
since you've been away,
i haven't done much of anything,
i haven't done much of the things that we did.
i haven't slept much,
and i still haven't been able to breathe.
since you've been away,
the cabin is now overgrown.
the wildflowers cover the yard,
and i've been taken over by wisteria.
was it everything you thought it'd be?
was it everything you dreamed about?
was it everything you thought it'd be?
when they came for you,
heaven sent horses.
heaven sent horses.
i haven't done much of anything,
i haven't done much of the things that we did.
i haven't slept much,
and i still haven't been able to breathe.
since you've been away,
the cabin is now overgrown.
the wildflowers cover the yard,
and i've been taken over by wisteria.
was it everything you thought it'd be?
was it everything you dreamed about?
was it everything you thought it'd be?
when they came for you,
heaven sent horses.
heaven sent horses.
Grasping
when i was born,
i was supposed to die.
late.
sick.
and grasping on to life.
but i was sinless.
when i was a youth,
i was supposed to die.
cold.
lost.
and grasping to a ledge.
but i was sinless.
now i was a man,
i was supposed to die.
cold.
fucked.
and speeding to my death.
but i am full of sin.
now that i have something to live for,
why would i want to throw it away?
i was supposed to die.
late.
sick.
and grasping on to life.
but i was sinless.
when i was a youth,
i was supposed to die.
cold.
lost.
and grasping to a ledge.
but i was sinless.
now i was a man,
i was supposed to die.
cold.
fucked.
and speeding to my death.
but i am full of sin.
now that i have something to live for,
why would i want to throw it away?
Friday, December 7, 2007
reasons without reasons
Every second of eternity is planned out with the cautious hands of an unknown host, pulling at the levers which command STOP! GO! YES! NO! - every atom aligned with precision holding hands in formation of something even greater than itself, much without it's knowledge- a clueless participant, just like me and you.
Without any definite reason I was drawn to your presence and by the time I was near enough to feel your warmth and oxygen was exhaled time froze my heart. This moment, solitary in itself has already been laid in stone. And with this knowledge, I bowed down graciously.
For you have a purpose in my life, and I to you. No doctor, scientist, or researcher will be able to crunch numbers or write down those 26 polyphonic symbols to predict the course of this engagement; neither through equation nor guess. It just is as what it was designed to be - and what becomes of it is a blueprint for something beautiful.
Without any definite reason I was drawn to your presence and by the time I was near enough to feel your warmth and oxygen was exhaled time froze my heart. This moment, solitary in itself has already been laid in stone. And with this knowledge, I bowed down graciously.
For you have a purpose in my life, and I to you. No doctor, scientist, or researcher will be able to crunch numbers or write down those 26 polyphonic symbols to predict the course of this engagement; neither through equation nor guess. It just is as what it was designed to be - and what becomes of it is a blueprint for something beautiful.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
CONGRATS FRANKY!
Our very own Franky Prozac has been nominated for the Glascock Poetry Prize! For those of you who don't know what that is, 6 students from students all across the country are nominated and Franky is one of em! Fuck yeah Franky, stick it to the man!
Could really use some advice
I've been nominated as a candidate for the Glascock Poetry Prize. I need to choose 3 or 4 of my best poems to submit for the contest. Please let me know which, if any, of the poems I've posted on here I should choose. I'd really appreciate the help.
-Franky Prozac
-Franky Prozac
In response
Let me begin by saying that Don's post was fantastic and deserves response from all. Please take some time and do so!
And now for something completely unoringal....
It seems today that the people in our society that we deem "important" are one of the following:
1. Extremely wealthy middle aged persons heavily armed with college degrees and a lack of intrest when it comes to the opinions of the youth of America.
2. Hollywood's ellite, who also are wealthy, but 95 percent of them are without college degree or knowledge of anything going on in this world (Ex: Paris "Tupperware" Hilton)
Now begins my rant/response on the youth of today.
Newspapers, magazines, Television news: These media outlets are run by older people, who have earned their right to be there (in some cases). College degrees are a must in persuing a career in one of these professions. Or is it? With today's advancements in technology it has grown easier and easier for teenagers and twenty somethings to voice their opinions of the world without a degree or any real formal training. While this is fantastic news for us, we are left to wonder: Who is going to trust us? Who will be listening? In my case, I just want a voice in the world. I don't believe you need a degree to be a great writer or to let the world know how you feel.
Paris Hilton gets a chance to travel the world, meet people who are struggling, and donate her billions for a cause. Fantastic! But does she have any idea what the hell she is doing this for? Does she really care? Probably not, it just makes her look good. While this is going on, kids all across this country are doing everything they can to help out those in need, whether they are throwing charity shows, running food/clothing drives, or simply speaking out and they don't get that chance. Why? Because this country does not trust or believe in it's youth. Sadly, kids today can go to war and die for the country, but without a degree, you are deemed useless. Regaurdless of your natural talents. We are left with little choice; College to "make something of ourselves" or join the military.
What is my point? My point is that the youth of today are NOT idiots, despite what some of our elders tell us. They need to be given a chance to make a difference in the world. We, as Americans (well some of us), put our trust into the hands of celebrities and the wealthy and "knowledgeable" to make a change, but what about the average boy or girl, man or woman? They are doing their part all over the country and are overlooked by everyone, while Brad Pitt is on every magazine in the country because he adopted a kid. Way to go Brangellina.
So to everyone reading, LET YOUR VOICE BE HEARD. That is why I started this blog. Writing groups and newspapers and everyone else in this god damn place ignores the talent of the underground. We are all here to give them one great big giant FUCK YOU. A piece of paper that says "Hey look! I took a writing class!" doesn't make you a writer. Whats inside you makes you a writer. Same with anything else. If you don't take a stand and do something about it, no one else is going to help you. Start a blog, hand out typed up thoughts on flyers around your town. Refuse to be ignored.
Well thats what I got out of Don's post. My two cents have been given.
And now for something completely unoringal....
It seems today that the people in our society that we deem "important" are one of the following:
1. Extremely wealthy middle aged persons heavily armed with college degrees and a lack of intrest when it comes to the opinions of the youth of America.
2. Hollywood's ellite, who also are wealthy, but 95 percent of them are without college degree or knowledge of anything going on in this world (Ex: Paris "Tupperware" Hilton)
Now begins my rant/response on the youth of today.
Newspapers, magazines, Television news: These media outlets are run by older people, who have earned their right to be there (in some cases). College degrees are a must in persuing a career in one of these professions. Or is it? With today's advancements in technology it has grown easier and easier for teenagers and twenty somethings to voice their opinions of the world without a degree or any real formal training. While this is fantastic news for us, we are left to wonder: Who is going to trust us? Who will be listening? In my case, I just want a voice in the world. I don't believe you need a degree to be a great writer or to let the world know how you feel.
Paris Hilton gets a chance to travel the world, meet people who are struggling, and donate her billions for a cause. Fantastic! But does she have any idea what the hell she is doing this for? Does she really care? Probably not, it just makes her look good. While this is going on, kids all across this country are doing everything they can to help out those in need, whether they are throwing charity shows, running food/clothing drives, or simply speaking out and they don't get that chance. Why? Because this country does not trust or believe in it's youth. Sadly, kids today can go to war and die for the country, but without a degree, you are deemed useless. Regaurdless of your natural talents. We are left with little choice; College to "make something of ourselves" or join the military.
What is my point? My point is that the youth of today are NOT idiots, despite what some of our elders tell us. They need to be given a chance to make a difference in the world. We, as Americans (well some of us), put our trust into the hands of celebrities and the wealthy and "knowledgeable" to make a change, but what about the average boy or girl, man or woman? They are doing their part all over the country and are overlooked by everyone, while Brad Pitt is on every magazine in the country because he adopted a kid. Way to go Brangellina.
So to everyone reading, LET YOUR VOICE BE HEARD. That is why I started this blog. Writing groups and newspapers and everyone else in this god damn place ignores the talent of the underground. We are all here to give them one great big giant FUCK YOU. A piece of paper that says "Hey look! I took a writing class!" doesn't make you a writer. Whats inside you makes you a writer. Same with anything else. If you don't take a stand and do something about it, no one else is going to help you. Start a blog, hand out typed up thoughts on flyers around your town. Refuse to be ignored.
Well thats what I got out of Don's post. My two cents have been given.
Action Vs. Reaction
There are those who would have us think that the time to act is now. There are those who would have us pause to reflect upon the implications of our actions, causing us to second guess everything. What do we do? What does my gut tell me? I think too much, I do nothing. I act first and accept the consequences of those actions.
What is all this about? I sit here from time to time and I read the news on the internet and carefully invest my belief in what I deem to be an adequate balance of what seems credible and what my instincts tell me. I recently heard a conversation where someone commented on how the newspaper was a dying art and that when people read it, they got their information from one or few sources, thereby creating a unified consciousness on what was happening in the world. To me, the benefit of having alternative sources of media online is that your finger is on the pulse of what people really think. There is two way communication. The lines between Left and Right begin to blur when we learn that the average Joe isn't so typically dumbed down as to digest and regurgitate what is spoonfed from only one or two points of view who happen to be pulling the strings on what we think we know to be true.
"One more run-on sentence and I'm bailing," you say. I don't blame you, but please bear with me. There is a point. Many feel that we are so disconnected through our technology and gadgets. We isolate ourselves from personal interaction through the use of e-mail, IM, and online forums. This may be true to an extent. Personally, I prefer eye contact over a drink and some music in the background when it comes to communication, but to those whose whispers become silence because of what will no longer be accepted in our "free society," we have a place at our fingertips where we can speak our peace without fear of retribution and, more importantly, to listen.
Those same fading industry moguls would have us believe that our youth today are uncaring and hopeless, that you are too distracted by your reality TV and the rest of the sensory assault which is perpetrated and perpetuated by your very accusers. The idea is propagated with the goal that we all buy it and in the end so do you. You are our best last hope, my friends. You are out there and you are listening, watching, speaking. I see you. I hear you. We have an arena to offer and display all view points. Plenty to consider, to reflect carefully about the implications of what we do next.
Now, what to do about the state of things? Do we throw our arms up and say, well, "they" all think we're stupid anyway and do nothing? Then, we simply moan and groan when something comes down the pipe that we don't like, OR, only then do we get all fired up and want to go taking names and breaking things. I say right now that we are in the midst of absorbing unprecedented amounts of information. It's seeped into our mental, spiritual, physiological, and developmental processes as well as our Collective Unconsciousness. I believe that as a whole, we are processing this information and narrowing it all down to simple conclusions on what the next logical steps are to advance as a culture and to leave behind what has not worked. This absorption allows us the sense to believe or disbelieve what our gut tells us when it becomes time to act.
The question remains. Should we always think long and hard before before we act? Time's up. Decide now. You are alive and capable. Your actions are based on what you already know. Me, I'm going to bed. Let me know how it turns out.
PS: The real purpose of this post is to call for solutions to the observations that stop us and make us think, "yeah, that could be better." I listen to a lot of talk radio and the thing that I notice is that it's a great forum for people who just want to complain. Let's get creative and offer ideas from people who may not necessarily agree, but would otherwise feel they have no real power to change things for various reasons. Let me know what ails ya. Let me know how we can make it better!
~Donnus
What is all this about? I sit here from time to time and I read the news on the internet and carefully invest my belief in what I deem to be an adequate balance of what seems credible and what my instincts tell me. I recently heard a conversation where someone commented on how the newspaper was a dying art and that when people read it, they got their information from one or few sources, thereby creating a unified consciousness on what was happening in the world. To me, the benefit of having alternative sources of media online is that your finger is on the pulse of what people really think. There is two way communication. The lines between Left and Right begin to blur when we learn that the average Joe isn't so typically dumbed down as to digest and regurgitate what is spoonfed from only one or two points of view who happen to be pulling the strings on what we think we know to be true.
"One more run-on sentence and I'm bailing," you say. I don't blame you, but please bear with me. There is a point. Many feel that we are so disconnected through our technology and gadgets. We isolate ourselves from personal interaction through the use of e-mail, IM, and online forums. This may be true to an extent. Personally, I prefer eye contact over a drink and some music in the background when it comes to communication, but to those whose whispers become silence because of what will no longer be accepted in our "free society," we have a place at our fingertips where we can speak our peace without fear of retribution and, more importantly, to listen.
Those same fading industry moguls would have us believe that our youth today are uncaring and hopeless, that you are too distracted by your reality TV and the rest of the sensory assault which is perpetrated and perpetuated by your very accusers. The idea is propagated with the goal that we all buy it and in the end so do you. You are our best last hope, my friends. You are out there and you are listening, watching, speaking. I see you. I hear you. We have an arena to offer and display all view points. Plenty to consider, to reflect carefully about the implications of what we do next.
Now, what to do about the state of things? Do we throw our arms up and say, well, "they" all think we're stupid anyway and do nothing? Then, we simply moan and groan when something comes down the pipe that we don't like, OR, only then do we get all fired up and want to go taking names and breaking things. I say right now that we are in the midst of absorbing unprecedented amounts of information. It's seeped into our mental, spiritual, physiological, and developmental processes as well as our Collective Unconsciousness. I believe that as a whole, we are processing this information and narrowing it all down to simple conclusions on what the next logical steps are to advance as a culture and to leave behind what has not worked. This absorption allows us the sense to believe or disbelieve what our gut tells us when it becomes time to act.
The question remains. Should we always think long and hard before before we act? Time's up. Decide now. You are alive and capable. Your actions are based on what you already know. Me, I'm going to bed. Let me know how it turns out.
PS: The real purpose of this post is to call for solutions to the observations that stop us and make us think, "yeah, that could be better." I listen to a lot of talk radio and the thing that I notice is that it's a great forum for people who just want to complain. Let's get creative and offer ideas from people who may not necessarily agree, but would otherwise feel they have no real power to change things for various reasons. Let me know what ails ya. Let me know how we can make it better!
~Donnus
The House
and you'll know you've done enough,
when there's dinner on the table.
and you've prayed to God to do everything he can.
and you'll know you've done enough,
and tried to be the better man.
when you've prayed to god to help you do everything you're able.
he never said a thing about the money he had to borrow.
they'd kiss us all goodnight,
and say "we'll see you all tomorrow."
but it's my father's house,
it keeps the water off our heads.
and it's my mother's house.
it's got four walls to keep us in and well.
so take a look at them now.
they carried all of our own weight,
and never said a word so we won't know.
this was the place where they'd lay our heads at night,
with a chip on the shoulder,
and a smile to let us know it's alright.
and he's been working to hard now, for days.
i wonder if he'll get a raise.
he's gone before the sun gets up,
and home after it goes away.
and mama's got the overnight again.
he never said it,
but i wonder if it ever had him beat,
trying to make ends meet,
without us ever knowing.
we never had our clothes wear out.
we never knew a thing about,
we never had our soles wear out.
we never knew a thing about.
when there's dinner on the table.
and you've prayed to God to do everything he can.
and you'll know you've done enough,
and tried to be the better man.
when you've prayed to god to help you do everything you're able.
he never said a thing about the money he had to borrow.
they'd kiss us all goodnight,
and say "we'll see you all tomorrow."
but it's my father's house,
it keeps the water off our heads.
and it's my mother's house.
it's got four walls to keep us in and well.
so take a look at them now.
they carried all of our own weight,
and never said a word so we won't know.
this was the place where they'd lay our heads at night,
with a chip on the shoulder,
and a smile to let us know it's alright.
and he's been working to hard now, for days.
i wonder if he'll get a raise.
he's gone before the sun gets up,
and home after it goes away.
and mama's got the overnight again.
he never said it,
but i wonder if it ever had him beat,
trying to make ends meet,
without us ever knowing.
we never had our clothes wear out.
we never knew a thing about,
we never had our soles wear out.
we never knew a thing about.
sans titre, numéro cinq
Je l'un suis.
Je suis seulement un homme.
Mais je tout suis.
Je tout suis dans le monde.
Et mon amour est tout je peux donner.
Oui, mon amour.
Mon amour me fait, donc je tout suis.
Je tout suis dans le monde, si je pense que jesuis.
Je suis seulement un homme.
Mais je tout suis.
Je tout suis dans le monde.
Et mon amour est tout je peux donner.
Oui, mon amour.
Mon amour me fait, donc je tout suis.
Je tout suis dans le monde, si je pense que jesuis.
La guerre
Ils vont là-bas.
Au loin.
Ils retournent mort.
Et je ne sais pas, oui.
La guerre est dans le coeur, maintenant.
l'histoire répète.
A cause de rien mais les loups.
Nous sommes fatigués.
Nous sommes fatigués.
Nous n'avons rien dans nos coeurs plus.
Je n'ai rien dans mon coeur plus.
La guerre.
Au loin.
Ils retournent mort.
Et je ne sais pas, oui.
La guerre est dans le coeur, maintenant.
l'histoire répète.
A cause de rien mais les loups.
Nous sommes fatigués.
Nous sommes fatigués.
Nous n'avons rien dans nos coeurs plus.
Je n'ai rien dans mon coeur plus.
La guerre.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Brothers United
Man he's down and out again,
they say this kid will never win.
and the look on his face says,
"someone just shit on my birthday cake."
someone get this kid a valium,
and a joe strummer and the mescaleros album.
"Life will be O.K! Dont be afraid! Know you're the master of your destiny."
well he dropped right out of highschool,
at the tender age of seventeen.
He sat down on my couch and smoked the memories from his brain, everyday.
Just fed up with the bullshit,
and the plight of the teenager.
I said, "toke on this, and listen quick! life only gets worse if you dont put the effort in."
he said, "sometimes man, I just wanna die!"
I replied, "I know the feeling of wanting to end your life!"
The next moment was silent.
Brothers united, full of pride and violent
towards anyone who trys to fuck with you or me.
Brothers united, until we expire.
True to oursevles, true till death.
We toasted a shot to our beloved departed,
and chugged a beer for good measurement.
Smoked a spliff, and split a bottle in dreams of better times.
and he said, "Man these are the times! When i feel so alive! And i take it back, you live for me, and I live for you!."
This kid, He finally gets it. And it's not an understatement. there's a reason why we call ourselves a family.
Without bloodline relation.
Brothers united untill we expire!
True to one another, unconditional, unbias.
Been through the same shit, throw the flames we rise! (we exist)
I pledged my life to this crew, I'd die for any of you!
Call it an act of selflessness, but its an exemplification of true friendship!
S.P.S.C. .SOUTH BOSTON, MA.
they say this kid will never win.
and the look on his face says,
"someone just shit on my birthday cake."
someone get this kid a valium,
and a joe strummer and the mescaleros album.
"Life will be O.K! Dont be afraid! Know you're the master of your destiny."
well he dropped right out of highschool,
at the tender age of seventeen.
He sat down on my couch and smoked the memories from his brain, everyday.
Just fed up with the bullshit,
and the plight of the teenager.
I said, "toke on this, and listen quick! life only gets worse if you dont put the effort in."
he said, "sometimes man, I just wanna die!"
I replied, "I know the feeling of wanting to end your life!"
The next moment was silent.
Brothers united, full of pride and violent
towards anyone who trys to fuck with you or me.
Brothers united, until we expire.
True to oursevles, true till death.
We toasted a shot to our beloved departed,
and chugged a beer for good measurement.
Smoked a spliff, and split a bottle in dreams of better times.
and he said, "Man these are the times! When i feel so alive! And i take it back, you live for me, and I live for you!."
This kid, He finally gets it. And it's not an understatement. there's a reason why we call ourselves a family.
Without bloodline relation.
Brothers united untill we expire!
True to one another, unconditional, unbias.
Been through the same shit, throw the flames we rise! (we exist)
I pledged my life to this crew, I'd die for any of you!
Call it an act of selflessness, but its an exemplification of true friendship!
S.P.S.C. .SOUTH BOSTON, MA.
its sad it may come to this
They held massive evacuations
in every major city
from boston to los angeles
from seattle back to philly
A country at a stand still
looking to the horizon
bracing for the impact
panic of pending nuclear attack
f-16's, prayers, and hope. littered the sky
as mothers embraced their children, fluids leaking from their eyes
The president was moved to camp david, safe and warm inside
from the lies that he told, and his bold selfish motives
well aware that america, may burn for his lies
we're the workers, we're the poor,
we're the ones that cant afford
to buy our way out of this mess they've created, in our name.
why will it take another disaster for us to realize?
that we are this country
lets take it back before we all expire
with so much blood invested, did you forget?
that your first priority is domestic
not off in foreign lands
i have got no problem with a middle east man
if he bleeds human blood, and breathes the same air
and if he follows the law of the common man
then he is my brother, and there is no problem
a united human race
a united share of believes
you should not steal
you should not kill
respect and honesty for every man
respect for the women and eldery
respect for our children,
and differences in religious beliefs
its obtainable if we believe
we're beautiful creatures, intelligent and free.
free to speak
in every major city
from boston to los angeles
from seattle back to philly
A country at a stand still
looking to the horizon
bracing for the impact
panic of pending nuclear attack
f-16's, prayers, and hope. littered the sky
as mothers embraced their children, fluids leaking from their eyes
The president was moved to camp david, safe and warm inside
from the lies that he told, and his bold selfish motives
well aware that america, may burn for his lies
we're the workers, we're the poor,
we're the ones that cant afford
to buy our way out of this mess they've created, in our name.
why will it take another disaster for us to realize?
that we are this country
lets take it back before we all expire
with so much blood invested, did you forget?
that your first priority is domestic
not off in foreign lands
i have got no problem with a middle east man
if he bleeds human blood, and breathes the same air
and if he follows the law of the common man
then he is my brother, and there is no problem
a united human race
a united share of believes
you should not steal
you should not kill
respect and honesty for every man
respect for the women and eldery
respect for our children,
and differences in religious beliefs
its obtainable if we believe
we're beautiful creatures, intelligent and free.
free to speak
Ghosts
I saw a ghost today,
Hiding behind the trees.
I smiled at his branch rifle,
Because that ghost used to be me.
Hiding from danger,
Commanding his invisible soldiers.
As I walked by, I grinned at my attempted captor.
I said "Boy, I am the general of these pines here,
Now open your lines.
There's no need to picket, the enemy isn't here."
He stepped back, saluted.
So proud he was of his army.
Oh my Lord, life was so simple then.
I spent my youth running in the woods,
Climbing over Civil War battle grounds,
We were so sure were there.
Listening to Daddy's stories on his knee,
Waiting for more,
About his cowboy days,
Up Indian's Head Rock,
Down to the water's shore,
And watch the sun disappear,
Then crawl back through the woods to our home.
Oh my Lord, life was so simple then.
We may have grown up and not had a lot,
But oh my God we were loved.
Hiding behind the trees.
I smiled at his branch rifle,
Because that ghost used to be me.
Hiding from danger,
Commanding his invisible soldiers.
As I walked by, I grinned at my attempted captor.
I said "Boy, I am the general of these pines here,
Now open your lines.
There's no need to picket, the enemy isn't here."
He stepped back, saluted.
So proud he was of his army.
Oh my Lord, life was so simple then.
I spent my youth running in the woods,
Climbing over Civil War battle grounds,
We were so sure were there.
Listening to Daddy's stories on his knee,
Waiting for more,
About his cowboy days,
Up Indian's Head Rock,
Down to the water's shore,
And watch the sun disappear,
Then crawl back through the woods to our home.
Oh my Lord, life was so simple then.
We may have grown up and not had a lot,
But oh my God we were loved.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Epic Tales # 1
Once upon a time, in a land where transexuals read Rimbaud, I met a one eyed prick. His name was Si Klops and for obvious reasons. With a fist full of dried shit and a mouthful of prose, he lured in his prey with slip of the tongue. Girl after girl, boy after boy, Si plowed his way through innocence like a degenerate cropper. He would proudly boast on any chosen night that he fucked like a panzer attack and he sent his lovers home crippled. He was a real son of a bitch.
One evening, just past supper, Si got the surprise of his life. He wound up in cockroach motel with another sleezeball everyone knew as Ceramic Dick Bearded. Mr. Bearded's cock was made out of 100 percent, American made ceramic and was monsterous. They sat around, smoked a couple good pipes and decided to get down to business. Our cycloptic hero had his face pressed against the wall while his ass got a lesson in romance. There wasn't much mercy in the room that night. Si woke up in the hospital, minus a wallet and an ability to walk. The story goes that he never fucked again after that day. He simply rolled his piece of shit bones from tavern to tavern, telling his fables like non fiction.
Ceramic Dick let everyone know there was a new bastard in town. Anyone with a bag of dope and a sweet spot got a fine piece of phallic pottery planted inside them. Story traveled far and wide of this freak show Casanova; Even as far as a carnival of paraplegic tight rope walkers known as The Clothes Pins. He was becoming a myth in his own time and soon enough was in all the papers.
"READ ALL ABOUT IT! THE MAN WITH THE BAKED CLAY COCK PENETRATES OUR HEARTS AND ORIFICES!"
But with this fame tagged along depression. He was tired of being that street hustler with the phony penis. His mother and father had caught wind of his talents and shunned him for being a deviant. He was tired. In an alley next to some dive, Ceramic Dick loaded a pistol and blasted his cock into a thousand pieces. It was the only way. His dirt caked hands dropped the gun and he stumbled through the bar doors like a priest in an alter boy. There, at the bar, sat Si Klops. He was old and decrepit and was shitting and pissing his pants. After a few drinks, they drove off to Reno and got married by a cheap Elvis. One eye and Dickless Dick lived happily ever after in a space ship 50 miles west of the desert. They never had kids.
One evening, just past supper, Si got the surprise of his life. He wound up in cockroach motel with another sleezeball everyone knew as Ceramic Dick Bearded. Mr. Bearded's cock was made out of 100 percent, American made ceramic and was monsterous. They sat around, smoked a couple good pipes and decided to get down to business. Our cycloptic hero had his face pressed against the wall while his ass got a lesson in romance. There wasn't much mercy in the room that night. Si woke up in the hospital, minus a wallet and an ability to walk. The story goes that he never fucked again after that day. He simply rolled his piece of shit bones from tavern to tavern, telling his fables like non fiction.
Ceramic Dick let everyone know there was a new bastard in town. Anyone with a bag of dope and a sweet spot got a fine piece of phallic pottery planted inside them. Story traveled far and wide of this freak show Casanova; Even as far as a carnival of paraplegic tight rope walkers known as The Clothes Pins. He was becoming a myth in his own time and soon enough was in all the papers.
"READ ALL ABOUT IT! THE MAN WITH THE BAKED CLAY COCK PENETRATES OUR HEARTS AND ORIFICES!"
But with this fame tagged along depression. He was tired of being that street hustler with the phony penis. His mother and father had caught wind of his talents and shunned him for being a deviant. He was tired. In an alley next to some dive, Ceramic Dick loaded a pistol and blasted his cock into a thousand pieces. It was the only way. His dirt caked hands dropped the gun and he stumbled through the bar doors like a priest in an alter boy. There, at the bar, sat Si Klops. He was old and decrepit and was shitting and pissing his pants. After a few drinks, they drove off to Reno and got married by a cheap Elvis. One eye and Dickless Dick lived happily ever after in a space ship 50 miles west of the desert. They never had kids.
Just Thinking
With Christmas right around the corner, a writer's mind goes wild. We are poor, we are starving, we are hopeless. A "real job" only interfers with our writing and we are deemed lazy. In reality, all we want to do is put food on the table by doing what we love. Christmas is an especially hard time for us. We can't afford to give those we love something beautiful and grand. Perhaps we can spill our guts onto paper and hastely disgust it as a present but material times make it impossible to serve material minds. With each night that tears roll, we search and scramble for ways to earn even the smallest bit of cash. We think of our families and our girls. All we want is for everyone to be happy and sometimes we just can't make that happen. The thought of our mother's opening a brand new dress, our father's opening his brand new tool, our women cracking open the box that contains a shinning and magnificant diamond ring. These things scar us and with each year, give us the feeling we need to find new means of income. This being said, if you know a writer or have one in your family, have mercy this year; They really do love you.
A Loser's December
In a cold room,
a lonely room
I sit and think.
I sit and think
as I sit upon the cold
empty
wallet
that hibernates in my
back pocket.
No gold this year
my dear.
No ribbons or bows.
If only I wasn't lazy.
If only I was a man.
Maybe then I could afford
some cards
some candy
something.
Maybe next year
if she isn't gone by then.
a lonely room
I sit and think.
I sit and think
as I sit upon the cold
empty
wallet
that hibernates in my
back pocket.
No gold this year
my dear.
No ribbons or bows.
If only I wasn't lazy.
If only I was a man.
Maybe then I could afford
some cards
some candy
something.
Maybe next year
if she isn't gone by then.
Bow
When asked for a screw
she lit up like a Christmas tree
Her lip stick stuck to her cigarette
as she took a long hard drag
Her hands roamed and eyes gazed
as she ventured onto my body
subliminally begging for discipline
like an iron fist
She went in for blood and got short changed
robbed at the gates and denied
I slid a bill like a leopards tongue
into her pants back pocket
as we said our good byes
as she left into the night.
As of right now, her whereabouts are unknown
if I had to guess I'd say she was dead
strung out barbie doll gutter ball
that haunted the alley i frequented most.
And every year around just around this time,
I leave a package by the spray painted wall
full of old pills and disregarded words
Merry Christmas darling
where ever you are.
she lit up like a Christmas tree
Her lip stick stuck to her cigarette
as she took a long hard drag
Her hands roamed and eyes gazed
as she ventured onto my body
subliminally begging for discipline
like an iron fist
She went in for blood and got short changed
robbed at the gates and denied
I slid a bill like a leopards tongue
into her pants back pocket
as we said our good byes
as she left into the night.
As of right now, her whereabouts are unknown
if I had to guess I'd say she was dead
strung out barbie doll gutter ball
that haunted the alley i frequented most.
And every year around just around this time,
I leave a package by the spray painted wall
full of old pills and disregarded words
Merry Christmas darling
where ever you are.
The next three blogs by me...
are from my own personal blog but I thought I'd share with everyone, so enjoy!!
Oh, Christ.........mas tree
We.
R.
R.
Greedy.
Money.Lust.
Money.Lust.
Spoiled.Angry.Begging
IWant.IWant.IWant.IWant.
Nothing.Is.Ever.Ever.Ever.Enough.
More.More.More.More.More.More.More.
More.More.More.More.More.More.More.
People.Forget.What.Christmas.Is.Really.About. Family.Friends.Family.Friends.Family.Friends.Family.
Being.Happy.
Love.
Being.Happy.
Love.
Going Home (an old crappy poem)
I turn into the center
of town. The Cambodian
children aren’t playing in the street
by the pawn shop; autumn has arrived.
I approach Anne’s and flick my cigarette.
Exhaust masked in dollar
store air freshener rushes in.
Jon is already waiting for me.
We exchange pleasantries
and walk into the restaurant.
We get a booth and discuss the past.
We both order the pastrami.
A pang hits my stomach
like when I find myself
in a Dunkin’ Donuts at 7 AM,
half insane and killing time before work.
We are served and devour our food.
My nose is slick from the stench of grease
and begging to be dried.
The waitress brings us our check.
I wipe the sweat from my temples
and place my money on the table.
Jon takes his share, passing me a bag
with a sleight of hand.
We rise and leave.
of town. The Cambodian
children aren’t playing in the street
by the pawn shop; autumn has arrived.
I approach Anne’s and flick my cigarette.
Exhaust masked in dollar
store air freshener rushes in.
Jon is already waiting for me.
We exchange pleasantries
and walk into the restaurant.
We get a booth and discuss the past.
We both order the pastrami.
A pang hits my stomach
like when I find myself
in a Dunkin’ Donuts at 7 AM,
half insane and killing time before work.
We are served and devour our food.
My nose is slick from the stench of grease
and begging to be dried.
The waitress brings us our check.
I wipe the sweat from my temples
and place my money on the table.
Jon takes his share, passing me a bag
with a sleight of hand.
We rise and leave.
A responce to Mr. Noel's Question...
There have been a few nights in my life where I have layed in bed and wondered if I would see the next day. It's a scary thought. I suppose my biggest fear is being forgotten. Did I do anything fantastic in my life? No, not really. I can't say I would have too much to be remembered for. If I could go back, I'm sure there would be a few things I would change. But would I really regret my life? Not at all. I had alot of great experiences and met alot of people that have shaped who I am in one way or another. If tomorrow never came for me, I wouldn't mind so much. I lived, I loved, I experienced life the way I wanted to experience it. I'd like to think I made a difference in a few peoples lives and what more can you ask for? I didn't need money or fame to be happy; just a few good friends, a good woman and lots of great times.
A Question
If you knew you were going to die, tomorrow, would you regret your life, or the way you lived it?
Untitled (revised)
one.
this room is gray.
the wood floors are splintered.
it is freezing.
there is no wood to feed the stove.
the pipes are frozen.
the heat is shut off.
no money.
no food.
just you.
our breaths,
in the air,
collide.
the only place warm is,
knowing there's something more.
we make love to stay warm.
two.
i will not burn these books.
i will not burn these books.
the fire they will feed,
will not be for heat.
passionately,
we stay warm,
again.
(im still not certain i like how it is now, of before. i realize it's slightly choppy, but i wanted it to be more free verse. comments? criticisms? likes? dislikes?)
this room is gray.
the wood floors are splintered.
it is freezing.
there is no wood to feed the stove.
the pipes are frozen.
the heat is shut off.
no money.
no food.
just you.
our breaths,
in the air,
collide.
the only place warm is,
knowing there's something more.
we make love to stay warm.
two.
i will not burn these books.
i will not burn these books.
the fire they will feed,
will not be for heat.
passionately,
we stay warm,
again.
(im still not certain i like how it is now, of before. i realize it's slightly choppy, but i wanted it to be more free verse. comments? criticisms? likes? dislikes?)
Fellow Readers and Authors!
The site is going exellent, don't you agree? There have been numerous poems posted every day and we are attracting new authors and readers. I still highly encourage everyone to comment on each others writings and let them know what you think. Good or bad, it will let them know that you are reading their stuff and will hopefully help them out in one way or another.
For those of you on myspace, I've been thinking about making some sort of banner to link to this site so we can put them on our pages, but sadly I am myspace illiterate and have no idea how to link a picture to a website. So with that being said, if someone would like to help us out and make one of those, it would be greatly apperciated!
Also, while on the topic of myspace, please help us spread the word and get more and more people to join us. This would be a great opportunity to meet new writers and maybe bring some shy authors out of their shells.
That's all I got for today. If anyone has any questions or ideas, please feel free to leave them in a comment on this post and I'll get back to you A.S.A.P.
Happy Writing!
Toad
For those of you on myspace, I've been thinking about making some sort of banner to link to this site so we can put them on our pages, but sadly I am myspace illiterate and have no idea how to link a picture to a website. So with that being said, if someone would like to help us out and make one of those, it would be greatly apperciated!
Also, while on the topic of myspace, please help us spread the word and get more and more people to join us. This would be a great opportunity to meet new writers and maybe bring some shy authors out of their shells.
That's all I got for today. If anyone has any questions or ideas, please feel free to leave them in a comment on this post and I'll get back to you A.S.A.P.
Happy Writing!
Toad
Consquently
i have always been a firm believer,
that red wine betters a poet.
red wine clears the head,
and it stains the teeth.
but it makes a better man.
that red wine betters a poet.
red wine clears the head,
and it stains the teeth.
but it makes a better man.
Monday, December 3, 2007
Fire Hazzard
A cigarette is best
directly after sex.
When your closest to god
with one arm around sin.
That quiet calm
an orgasm brings.
And you watch all the spiders
mending their webs
while you're lying so peaceful
and naked in bed.
And the bottles, all empty
are lined up like soliders.
She shivers and trembles
and struggles with the covers.
A kiss on the hair
let's her know that you care.
and her legs around yours
assure's that your there.
You pray with each drag
that one more day comes
as you fall asleep dreaming
burning out
like the
sun.
directly after sex.
When your closest to god
with one arm around sin.
That quiet calm
an orgasm brings.
And you watch all the spiders
mending their webs
while you're lying so peaceful
and naked in bed.
And the bottles, all empty
are lined up like soliders.
She shivers and trembles
and struggles with the covers.
A kiss on the hair
let's her know that you care.
and her legs around yours
assure's that your there.
You pray with each drag
that one more day comes
as you fall asleep dreaming
burning out
like the
sun.
Before the Lake Freezes
A flock of geese bathe in the lake,
dwarf the mallard drakes
that drift past.
Without breeze, their calls
echo through the trees
and can be perceived
as far as stone cast.
As a gander rears,
breast thrown high,
and swings his wings
with a visceral force,
scattering the cool waters
of early winter,
springs a maelstrom.
The wind of his span
drives the ducks back
and gives him path
to the bread a little girl
has tossed from the overpass,
as she begs her daddy,
“Can I take one home?’
untitled
one.
this room is gray, the wood floors are splintered.
it is freezing.
there is no wood to feed the stove.
the pipes are frozen; heat shut off.
no money, no food.
just you.
our breath in the air collide.
the only place warm is...
we make love to stay warm
two.
i will not burn these books.
i will not burn these books.
the fire they will feed will not be for heat.
(still in progress. how about some feed back?)
this room is gray, the wood floors are splintered.
it is freezing.
there is no wood to feed the stove.
the pipes are frozen; heat shut off.
no money, no food.
just you.
our breath in the air collide.
the only place warm is...
we make love to stay warm
two.
i will not burn these books.
i will not burn these books.
the fire they will feed will not be for heat.
(still in progress. how about some feed back?)
Like a Shogun
Like a shogun,
I sit in the snow.
High.
Waiting to execute.
My mission: Exterminate all rational thought.
Words of the great William S. Burroughs.
Dead now but still flowering in the human gutter.
A gutter that is clogged in infantile politics.
My mouth pressed against the hippie pipe.
Inhale.
Where the fuck was I?
I sit in the snow.
High.
Waiting to execute.
My mission: Exterminate all rational thought.
Words of the great William S. Burroughs.
Dead now but still flowering in the human gutter.
A gutter that is clogged in infantile politics.
My mouth pressed against the hippie pipe.
Inhale.
Where the fuck was I?
Christina Aguilera would never date me
I thought I was
ugly
stupid
worthless
invisible to all.
Normal
Average
Nothing special.
And then I saw her husband.
ugly
stupid
worthless
invisible to all.
Normal
Average
Nothing special.
And then I saw her husband.
Ink
(Noel, your poem reminded me of a pantoum I wrote a few years ago about blow. There's really nothing better than blow and poetry. That's food for the soul.)
The bird trapped in my ribcage,
fluttering as I jump off the white starting line,
invokes the jaw of a Titan. I
grind bone to powder with trembling hands.
Closer to horizontal bars of black and flesh— I
grind bone to powder with trembling hands
and bring the world to an extreme sobriety.
criticize (deflating day dreams)
and bring the world to an extreme sobriety
through his hollow voice that comes to possess one. He
that, although far fetched, are important.
Through his hollow voice that comes to possess one, he
taught me of the crafts that go into making a light bulb
But often I think back to how he
taught me of the crafts that go into making a light bulb
with fondness, for it created a man.
bore the fell beast and not
with fondness, for it created a man:
the true savagery that darkens the jungle.
Bore the fell beast and not
the bird trapped in my ribcage.
The true savagery that darkens the jungle
invokes the jaw of a Titan: I.
Porcelain
porcelain angel,
i'm sorry if i sometimes let you down,
you've got to go way up to come down sometimes,
you know i never mean to try.
if everyone were like you,
i'd fall in love over and over every night,
and i know you see behind my eyes.
thankfully, they're always there fore me.
the last time you came looking,
i hid.
she takes some; i take a lot.
"good morning afterglow."
in the blow, i've seemed to have lost myself,
again.
i wake up and the morning's so cold.
everything's okay.
you said "i don't even recognize you anymore."
"i'm fucked up like it's the death of me."
and the words between the lines,
they only tell lies.
it's been almost two years since,
i think.
i don't think i miss a thing, fuck-
i miss it every day.
cocaine.
i'm sorry if i sometimes let you down,
you've got to go way up to come down sometimes,
you know i never mean to try.
if everyone were like you,
i'd fall in love over and over every night,
and i know you see behind my eyes.
thankfully, they're always there fore me.
the last time you came looking,
i hid.
she takes some; i take a lot.
"good morning afterglow."
in the blow, i've seemed to have lost myself,
again.
i wake up and the morning's so cold.
everything's okay.
you said "i don't even recognize you anymore."
"i'm fucked up like it's the death of me."
and the words between the lines,
they only tell lies.
it's been almost two years since,
i think.
i don't think i miss a thing, fuck-
i miss it every day.
cocaine.
In Flew Enza
Hacking
hacking
hacking up.
Bubbling lungs
expand and contract.
Freezing cold,
wrapped up in a sheep
and the cow will jump over the moon.
Take one,
take two,
take enough
just to sleep.
Take a hot shower
and scream.
Mild water
burns contaminated flesh.
Get out.
Light another cigarette.
Drip
dripp
dripping
cold.
I will not get better.
I will not get better
until the cow jumps over the moon.
hacking
hacking up.
Bubbling lungs
expand and contract.
Freezing cold,
wrapped up in a sheep
and the cow will jump over the moon.
Take one,
take two,
take enough
just to sleep.
Take a hot shower
and scream.
Mild water
burns contaminated flesh.
Get out.
Light another cigarette.
Drip
dripp
dripping
cold.
I will not get better.
I will not get better
until the cow jumps over the moon.
Sixteen
(criticism please. it needs some work)
Young, high as shit,
gaping at Iggy in an extinct club.
Some Weird Sin or some other song
slips through my ears,
suffocates my brain.
It slinks over me—
the undulating waves of
an ocean of sweat and cigarette butts.
High tide reaches my waist
and reveals the jetty
of Neptune’s arm.
It stretches back to a bland landscape:
gray sweatshirt tucked into
gray sweatpants to match his
gray comb over, adorned by a
gray moustache, as if he
tried to pull a bowtie over his head.
I stammer back onto dry land
and soak in the over the hill
man making a move for my crotch.
He looks as stunned as me before sliding
back into the crowd
with the other drops of water.
Madison
i can't change the way i am-
i can't-
but ask me to try-
i will-
i'll put down my drink-
i'll quit smoking again-
i'll do what i have to-
but still-
now i can't change the things i did-
it's just not who i am-
now i know you hate the things i did-
but it's not what i am-
dear God it makes me weak-
i just have to dust myself off and turn the other cheek-
don't give up on me-
no one can tell me how i got this fucked up-
maybe it's holding everything in-
ever since i was a kid-
baggage is baggage-
mine's just worn out-
but don't give up on me just yet-
because you know i said i loved the mountains-
i always said i loved the mountains-
one of these days we'll climb up there and never come back down-
but it's these city lights...
i can't-
but ask me to try-
i will-
i'll put down my drink-
i'll quit smoking again-
i'll do what i have to-
but still-
now i can't change the things i did-
it's just not who i am-
now i know you hate the things i did-
but it's not what i am-
dear God it makes me weak-
i just have to dust myself off and turn the other cheek-
don't give up on me-
no one can tell me how i got this fucked up-
maybe it's holding everything in-
ever since i was a kid-
baggage is baggage-
mine's just worn out-
but don't give up on me just yet-
because you know i said i loved the mountains-
i always said i loved the mountains-
one of these days we'll climb up there and never come back down-
but it's these city lights...
Victimology
For so long it’s been staring me in the face-and I was oblivious to its presence. Insidious and disabling. This concept that we are all somehow-VICTIMS. Of life. Of society. Of our minds .Of ourselves. What of responsibility and choice? Of making our own way in the world? Self reliant and using our ingenuity to survive instead of blaming and whining and only seeking proof of the worst we’ve become. Sure things are fucked up in the world-Life isn’t fair or easy-but who said it was going to be? What use would that be? What would we learn? How would we grow? How would we differentiate between subtle emotions, or come to appreciate the beauty in pain? The ecstasy of betrayal. Of Living with no questions or restraint. No regrets. Getting hurt-but not blaming. Only loving the chance to experience all that life has to offer. The good, the bad, the painful and the rarely understood. To ask questions that no one wastes time thinking of. To see things in your own way. To make yourself and your life. Sure the victim stance allows us to dissolve any responsibility and affords us options like-being dependant on others for our survival or self destructive behavior with no artistic merit-Returning to an infantile state while our brains atrophy because we don’t use them-and then in 60 years if we are lucky we can develop dementia and be cast away to some old folks home to be forgotten and decay. All the while blaming our demise on everyone else. Never taking responsibility for or really owning our life and our choices. Throwing our hands up and saying “It’s not my fault, I have no control.”I'd rather live each day knowing that what I do and what happens to me -I alone am responsible for. How I react and feel and interact and deal-are all the stuff of life. Living. Making choices. Being free. We live in a society that encourages dependencies and the victim mentality. But that’s no reason to so easily give up our responsibility. It’s not a burden -but a gift. Without a sense of being responsible for what happens in our life how can we ever truly be free? To choose, to create, to live and let live. When you give in to the victim mentality you’re not only giving up on yourself, but on what you can offer the world. Nothing in life is perfect and overcoming obstacles is a process of growth which people should never be encouraged to blame others for. So your parents weren’t perfect, or you were poor, make do with what you have. Stop blaming life and use your mind to change your world.
Insomnia
The day's seem like minutes, The hours like seconds. Late night TV, Infomercial after Infomercial. Trying to sell us the same recycled products over and over again, This is all too much for my Un-restful head. The low hum of the refrigerator sounds more like a live machine gun, while the clock gives me it's evil grin, i know now that i may never sleep again...
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Mondo Cane
The world today is scary.
S
C
A
R
Y?
Because.
Writing is judged by degrees,
not soul.
Marriage is judged by gender,
not love.
Music is judged by fashion,
not ability.
A woman's body is controlled
by everyone
except her.
A man's words are analized
and put
on
trial.
Comic strips
can easily start
a small religious
war.
Mohammed
the bear
is sending people
to die.
And my father wonders
why
I hide
alone in my room.
S
C
A
R
Y?
Because.
Writing is judged by degrees,
not soul.
Marriage is judged by gender,
not love.
Music is judged by fashion,
not ability.
A woman's body is controlled
by everyone
except her.
A man's words are analized
and put
on
trial.
Comic strips
can easily start
a small religious
war.
Mohammed
the bear
is sending people
to die.
And my father wonders
why
I hide
alone in my room.
Figured I'd do this before Midnight
I'd like to thank everyone that joined today for making this pretty successful. With time, hopefully more people will join and this thing will blow up! You guys have been writing some amazing stuff and I'm glad I actually decided to start this blog up cause I get to read alot of great new writing.
If you know anyone that would want to be a part of this group of degenerates, please feel free to contact me with their email and we will have them join us!
Also, if you are going to post something other then writing; like an idea for the blog, great youtube video link of a writer, etc. please make the font the color of this post so we know whats news and whats writing. I'm sorry if thats an inconvinence, it would just make things alot more organized for everyone!
Thanks again and lets hope tomorrow is an even more eventful day then today.
Toad
If you know anyone that would want to be a part of this group of degenerates, please feel free to contact me with their email and we will have them join us!
Also, if you are going to post something other then writing; like an idea for the blog, great youtube video link of a writer, etc. please make the font the color of this post so we know whats news and whats writing. I'm sorry if thats an inconvinence, it would just make things alot more organized for everyone!
Thanks again and lets hope tomorrow is an even more eventful day then today.
Toad
A conversation between me and Venus
My home made fried rice gazed up at me as I started to lose my appetite. I pushed it away, leaned back and lit up another cigarette. She paused momentarily, fork still in mouth, and her eyes attracted mine.
"What is it now?"
She swallowed her overly spiced bite of grain and removed the fork.
"Another cigarette? Didn't you just have one 10 minutes ago?"
"Whose counting?"
The smoked filled my lungs and I held it in. Closing my eyes, I let it all out and cracked a mild smile. She was still looking at me.
"Jesus Christ, what is it?"
"I have to talk to you."
"Alright. What's the problem?"
"I don't want you to touch drugs anymore."
I could only laugh. I hadn't touched a drug in years. My only drug now was love and I was more hooked on that then I was the real stuff.
"What drugs are you talking about? I haven't done anything in years but I can't promise I won't again."
"The other night you mentioned smoking opium. I don't want you doing that. It's bad enough your drinking every night and smoking a pack a day."
"You make it seem like I'm at the bar every night getting loaded and forgetting where I am."
I stood up and went to the trash can. Maybe a change of topic would ease this situation.
"What do you think about getting some wine?"
"What the fuck is wrong with you? I'm sitting here telling you I want you to quit drugs and slow down on the drinking and you ask me if I want wine?"
"Yeah."
"Alright, get dressed; And make it Zinfindel."
"What is it now?"
She swallowed her overly spiced bite of grain and removed the fork.
"Another cigarette? Didn't you just have one 10 minutes ago?"
"Whose counting?"
The smoked filled my lungs and I held it in. Closing my eyes, I let it all out and cracked a mild smile. She was still looking at me.
"Jesus Christ, what is it?"
"I have to talk to you."
"Alright. What's the problem?"
"I don't want you to touch drugs anymore."
I could only laugh. I hadn't touched a drug in years. My only drug now was love and I was more hooked on that then I was the real stuff.
"What drugs are you talking about? I haven't done anything in years but I can't promise I won't again."
"The other night you mentioned smoking opium. I don't want you doing that. It's bad enough your drinking every night and smoking a pack a day."
"You make it seem like I'm at the bar every night getting loaded and forgetting where I am."
I stood up and went to the trash can. Maybe a change of topic would ease this situation.
"What do you think about getting some wine?"
"What the fuck is wrong with you? I'm sitting here telling you I want you to quit drugs and slow down on the drinking and you ask me if I want wine?"
"Yeah."
"Alright, get dressed; And make it Zinfindel."
Topography
Across my desk, Claire scrolled out a map of the town.
Her breast brushed against my hand.
“If you draw lines between the pawn
shop, bodega by family planning, and
barber shop, you can fence in the Cambodians.”
Her words clogged in my eardrums
and I imagined if she was still beautiful when
she was naked. She continued, “I dragged Mike out from
my new place, the other night, just inside the North edge
of the Triangle, and waited on the porch while he emptied
out. Over his noise, I barely heard something ping off the ledge
of the porch. I looked across the street but couldn’t see
past the dark. I rolled Mike behind the car and called the cops.
I waited until five before I went to bed.” I smiled as she talked.
Her breast brushed against my hand.
“If you draw lines between the pawn
shop, bodega by family planning, and
barber shop, you can fence in the Cambodians.”
Her words clogged in my eardrums
and I imagined if she was still beautiful when
she was naked. She continued, “I dragged Mike out from
my new place, the other night, just inside the North edge
of the Triangle, and waited on the porch while he emptied
out. Over his noise, I barely heard something ping off the ledge
of the porch. I looked across the street but couldn’t see
past the dark. I rolled Mike behind the car and called the cops.
I waited until five before I went to bed.” I smiled as she talked.
hope you dont mind i posted again.
you havent tried to change your inside
mind rotting away, full of empty pride
youre better this, and once you realize
then the words will begin to reflect and subside
internal struggle heterogenous
with streams of success. they just wont mix
smoke another spliff, anesthisize
fail youreself with every high
tell the lies that help you get by
live the low life to survive
working poor and ill work till i die
the fortunate born into wealth around me thrive
loss of hope, continue to the hive
still alive, struggle to survive
you havent tried to change your inside
mind rotting away, full of empty pride
youre better this, and once you realize
then the words will begin to reflect and subside
internal struggle heterogenous
with streams of success. they just wont mix
smoke another spliff, anesthisize
fail youreself with every high
tell the lies that help you get by
live the low life to survive
working poor and ill work till i die
the fortunate born into wealth around me thrive
loss of hope, continue to the hive
still alive, struggle to survive
Three Seventeen
this is something i wrote about a parade that occurs annually in my home town
hey buddy wake up, grab a liter
there's nothing better than bushmills
first thing in the morning
the snow stopped falling
and tradition is calling
today we stand on broadway
streams of green white and orange.
3/17 more than another day to you and me
takes us back to the way it used to be
as if we needed a reminder
singing the songs of our grandfathers
pounding bottle after bottle after bottle
proudly showing our true colors
pitchers of guinness, local politicians
and if you havent been here before
yes those are cops and yes theyre drinking
fighting yuppies, welcome to southie
you dont know this struggle, im not sorry
pipe and drum brigades, tin whistles and fifes play all day
my solo cup is never empty
drunk and full of cabbage and cornedbeef
feeling united, feeling alive again, strong sense of pride here
on this day, in the town that we grew up in
twenty six cases, between seventeen of us
i wonder where the time went, woke up on the kitchen floor
sporting a wonderful hangover
wonder what today has in store
mark off the next three hundred sixty five days off my calendar
hey buddy wake up, grab a liter
there's nothing better than bushmills
first thing in the morning
the snow stopped falling
and tradition is calling
today we stand on broadway
streams of green white and orange.
3/17 more than another day to you and me
takes us back to the way it used to be
as if we needed a reminder
singing the songs of our grandfathers
pounding bottle after bottle after bottle
proudly showing our true colors
pitchers of guinness, local politicians
and if you havent been here before
yes those are cops and yes theyre drinking
fighting yuppies, welcome to southie
you dont know this struggle, im not sorry
pipe and drum brigades, tin whistles and fifes play all day
my solo cup is never empty
drunk and full of cabbage and cornedbeef
feeling united, feeling alive again, strong sense of pride here
on this day, in the town that we grew up in
twenty six cases, between seventeen of us
i wonder where the time went, woke up on the kitchen floor
sporting a wonderful hangover
wonder what today has in store
mark off the next three hundred sixty five days off my calendar
straight from the moleskin
ive trapped myself again. claustrophobic, shallow breaths
arms bound tight, for wrong, not for right.
sweaty palms, a useless grip,
tuckered out from the shock and the sin.
heres my last will and testament,
this has to be the end.
neglected advice
cowardice, but righteous in my mind.
serenity, ive often found hard to find.
the pleasure, oh! the pressure!
the turning point my vision too poor to measure
crashed through the walls of common sense again, ive ruined everything
ive ruined whats within
im a stranger in the mirror
to change i dont know where to begin
the shakes begin to subside
writhe on the floor no more, no smore sweaty eyes
begin to see a light, throw it in reverse, take a right
deliverence from this world accursed
of greed and selfishness
a place where rationality is worthless
humanity will serve no purpose, anymore
arms bound tight, for wrong, not for right.
sweaty palms, a useless grip,
tuckered out from the shock and the sin.
heres my last will and testament,
this has to be the end.
neglected advice
cowardice, but righteous in my mind.
serenity, ive often found hard to find.
the pleasure, oh! the pressure!
the turning point my vision too poor to measure
crashed through the walls of common sense again, ive ruined everything
ive ruined whats within
im a stranger in the mirror
to change i dont know where to begin
the shakes begin to subside
writhe on the floor no more, no smore sweaty eyes
begin to see a light, throw it in reverse, take a right
deliverence from this world accursed
of greed and selfishness
a place where rationality is worthless
humanity will serve no purpose, anymore
In any case,
i didn't mention it earlier, but franky reminded me, critical feedback is always welcome.
I'm just being Ernest (Hemingway)
She sits on my bed
doing homework.
Just seventeen.
Watching T.V.
Complaining about the smoke,
complaining about my weight.
"We should have sex."
"We should drink wine."
"Why is everything about drinking?"
"Why is everything about sex?"
We stare blankly.
Frankly,
this conversation isn't going anywhere.
Off go the pants.
Up goes the shirt.
Tight grip the hand.
Soft touch the fingers.
Five minutes pass.
I haven't proven a thing.
We lay on our backs,
as we laugh and we laugh.
"We should have sex."
"We should drink wine."
doing homework.
Just seventeen.
Watching T.V.
Complaining about the smoke,
complaining about my weight.
"We should have sex."
"We should drink wine."
"Why is everything about drinking?"
"Why is everything about sex?"
We stare blankly.
Frankly,
this conversation isn't going anywhere.
Off go the pants.
Up goes the shirt.
Tight grip the hand.
Soft touch the fingers.
Five minutes pass.
I haven't proven a thing.
We lay on our backs,
as we laugh and we laugh.
"We should have sex."
"We should drink wine."
Hurtful Words
(This is a new poem that I'm not sure is done, or any good at all. I would really appreciate some critical feedback on this one.)
Hyperbole should be spelled, “Hyper Bowl”
And it should be more like Thunderdome:
Two words enter;
One word leaves.
Sentences bracketed
By oversized shoulder pads
With blood-encrusted spikes,
Duke it out over poignancy.
Gerundive phrases latching onto them
With, like, Wolverine claws.
Tina Turner
Controls all alliteration.
A gang of prepositions
Chases Mel Gibson in the desert
On dune buggies armed with machine guns.
Master Blaster
Dominates all other rhymes.
It turns out that adverbs
Are actually filled with sand.
The entire stanza
Runs on pig shit.
The pen would decimate the sword.
My New Job
It was a long day of matters;
I wouldn’t have lasted the drive home.
Lucky enough, Elsie lived in the city and she was
Nice enough to let me sleep on her sofa.
The couch was glorious and I slept whole heartedly.
I woke up well into the morning
To find my pants around my ankles.
Genitals all still there. And why rape the willing?
But I soon realized that, while I slept,
She had braided my pubic hairs.
When she walked into the living room, I said,
I suppose it’s my fault for letting them grow so long.
She plopped onto the seat next to me,
Like a dog on hind legs, awaiting due
Reward for playing dead, and said,
Yes, I’m sorry, but you are to blame.
You see, your pubes aren’t dissimilar from economics.
Consider big business, corporations:
The kind NPR loves to shit on.
If they grow too big, stretch too far,
They become prominent, and, inevitably, evil.
They become a topic of discussion, criticism
And, ultimately, a target of attack—
Whether through speeches, boycotts, legislation,
Or plain old tomfuckery.
Remember that scene in Fight Club,
With the commercial coffee shop?
Tomfuckery of that sort.
Now, it seems a bit much to blow up your crotch
Or roll a cement boulder through it,
But I feel that the message of the piece still rings clear.
Of course, she was right.
So, being in the city, I found a reputable gallery.
I walked to the front desk, dropped my pants
And requested a plaque summarizing Elsie’s argument.
The man behind the desk called in the curator,
Who, naturally, loved it.
I’ve been on display since.
Six hours a day, five days a week.
Health and dental.
Good work if you can get it.
The Big Why
I found my love of the word
was that of a lifetime
while working at a deli
with strong Christian overtones.
Having to dress like a Mormon baker,
stuck in a Borgesian labyrinth
of asking have you heard today’s specials
and the Good News?
while percolating up this glut
of passion and thought
and I can’t stop slicing ham
long enough to write this fucking sentence.
To feel like an enlightened Buddhist
in serious financial debt.
Held in a Plexiglas cell where
you can’t do more than watch Law and Order reruns and
you haven’t bathed since Sunday and
you’ve eaten pasta for a month straight and
you haven’t beat off in a week
because you’ve just lost interest.
And I take this to paper
and I roll off the couch
and I wash the itch out of my beard
and I buy real groceries
and I can finally get it up again.
So I quit my job and told myself:
poets are like lovers;
the best ones are men of leisure.
The Gin Inside The Coffee Cup
so here we are again-
got a notice on the door-
i have to pay the rent-
but my excuse's no good-
and the money's spent-
if i don't get the cash by morning we won't have a place to live-
now i work my hands 'til they're hard to hold-
i never sleep at night any more-
it seems all i've got left is up there empty on the shelf-
i pour the gin 'til i can't think-
the drink i've hidden deep inside the coffee cup-
i've given all i have to try to pick you up-
i've given all i have to try to pick you up-
i make sure there's food to eat-
yeah, and necessities-
whatever's left i pour right down again-
and when i try to leave it grabs hold of me-
the only thing keeping me alive, i know is you-
and i can tell my self-destruction is tearing you in two-
i've given all i have to try and pick you up-
oh i pray to God that it's enough
got a notice on the door-
i have to pay the rent-
but my excuse's no good-
and the money's spent-
if i don't get the cash by morning we won't have a place to live-
now i work my hands 'til they're hard to hold-
i never sleep at night any more-
it seems all i've got left is up there empty on the shelf-
i pour the gin 'til i can't think-
the drink i've hidden deep inside the coffee cup-
i've given all i have to try to pick you up-
i've given all i have to try to pick you up-
i make sure there's food to eat-
yeah, and necessities-
whatever's left i pour right down again-
and when i try to leave it grabs hold of me-
the only thing keeping me alive, i know is you-
and i can tell my self-destruction is tearing you in two-
i've given all i have to try and pick you up-
oh i pray to God that it's enough
An introduction to the Ian Cat.
I'm new here. In any case, I'll give the readers a little background information.
I grew up in Rhode Island but I live and go to school in Massachusetts now. I'm a musician, filmmaker, and writer. I'm into music and film more than most people realize when they meet me. I can't tell you how deep the rabbit hole goes, but I can tell you I haven't gotten bored with it yet.
For writing, my biggest influences would have to be Jack Kerouac, Bob Dylan, and Kurt Vonnegut. I'm interested in weird literature, subversive literature, and things that make people wonder "What the fuck?" when there's really no need. I'm interested in Dadaism, Fluxus, anti-art, free jazz and free improvisation, postmodernism, and other things. While I can't say I'm well-versed in these things, I'm interested and I've been exposed to some.
You can expect anything from my writing. Expect the worst and you just might get it. It just depends on what you're looking for.
I grew up in Rhode Island but I live and go to school in Massachusetts now. I'm a musician, filmmaker, and writer. I'm into music and film more than most people realize when they meet me. I can't tell you how deep the rabbit hole goes, but I can tell you I haven't gotten bored with it yet.
For writing, my biggest influences would have to be Jack Kerouac, Bob Dylan, and Kurt Vonnegut. I'm interested in weird literature, subversive literature, and things that make people wonder "What the fuck?" when there's really no need. I'm interested in Dadaism, Fluxus, anti-art, free jazz and free improvisation, postmodernism, and other things. While I can't say I'm well-versed in these things, I'm interested and I've been exposed to some.
You can expect anything from my writing. Expect the worst and you just might get it. It just depends on what you're looking for.
Christmas with the Crabs
Sitting on the sofa
scratching this crotch
listening to talk radio
with a firm belief
that Jesus will save him.
The kids know well
that Father is piss poor.
He is in shambles.
Working hard
to hardly work
and Christmas really won't come
this year.
Little Bobby
opens his package
and finds a gun.
"This was your Grandfather's
and he killed himself with it
and someday you will too.
I've tried too many times
and like always
I've failed.
I gave your brother the rounds
and together you can play.
Go make Father proud.
Tell your Grandfather I'm sorry."
scratching this crotch
listening to talk radio
with a firm belief
that Jesus will save him.
The kids know well
that Father is piss poor.
He is in shambles.
Working hard
to hardly work
and Christmas really won't come
this year.
Little Bobby
opens his package
and finds a gun.
"This was your Grandfather's
and he killed himself with it
and someday you will too.
I've tried too many times
and like always
I've failed.
I gave your brother the rounds
and together you can play.
Go make Father proud.
Tell your Grandfather I'm sorry."
The City That God Had Built..
he died in the dream,
and no one could tell me why;
he just did-
in that moment, he withered like an old tree-
and settled into death.
he was tired and worn out.
his life meant little to him now-
a hollow drum.
his breathing receded into the night-
and from his lungs.
he welcomed her as the last flicker of thoughts played his mind.
he awoke to find himself alone,
looking over the city God had built-
a beautiful city.
no more death, pain, waiting.
he walked toward the gate
"welcome to the city i built for you."
eternity has begun-
you are the chosen.
and no one could tell me why;
he just did-
in that moment, he withered like an old tree-
and settled into death.
he was tired and worn out.
his life meant little to him now-
a hollow drum.
his breathing receded into the night-
and from his lungs.
he welcomed her as the last flicker of thoughts played his mind.
he awoke to find himself alone,
looking over the city God had built-
a beautiful city.
no more death, pain, waiting.
he walked toward the gate
"welcome to the city i built for you."
eternity has begun-
you are the chosen.
this is it...
Ideas come from everything around us, everything we see, breathe, touch, and feel.
Writing is a way to bring people together, and to pull people apart..
I am S. Noel.
Je suis écrivain, et être aussi grand que T.S. Elliot, Seamus Heaney, Gelée, Bukowski, et Tom Robbins est...
Writing is a way to bring people together, and to pull people apart..
I am S. Noel.
Je suis écrivain, et être aussi grand que T.S. Elliot, Seamus Heaney, Gelée, Bukowski, et Tom Robbins est...
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