To C

I met you and fell upward
To the bliss
Of sunshine and the sweet of a rose
And with the power of a kiss,
I fell to the sky.

I thought I would bleed
For you, but I found myself
Upon a midnight reading
Out from my lonesome shelf.

The picture on the page
Dances in my head wile
As this bird flies from the cage
Made weak from this child.

The voice of my past
Cannot last
This straining of my heart
He died whilst speaking his art.

In the Mood to Destroy Something Beautiful

    Lately I've been in the mood to destroy something.  Something beautiful, and preferably non-living.  Like burn the Louvre and wipe my ass with the Mona Lira, as my copy of Fight Club says.  I don't know, man.  I'm usually not that kind of guy.  But lately I feel like it.  I might as well enjoy it, since I've been labelled a douche for the rest of my high school career.  Two months never seemed so long.  In a sense I have destroyed something beautiful.  I really did, if I think about it.  I guess that's why I feel this way, the whole 'fuck it' attitude.  I'm going to be in school for two more fucking months, then bam.  Real life.  I honestly think I should live as much as I can now, before life kicks in.
    Adolescence is a twentieth century invention, I've heard that a lot echoing through my mind.  The more I think about it, the more I realize it's true.  We are a generation of men raised by women, a generation of women raised by the media.  I'm still unsure if another voice in our heads is for the better.  Freud's Superego has been amassing an army.  To fight the moral fight of this stillyoung century.  I've been debating whether or not I should just opt out, or pick a side.  One thing that still gets me is my knack for picking a side unintentionally.  The Id has been amassing an army as well.  Set up to fight the Armageddon of the New Age.  Maybe that's what all that biblical shit is about.  Morals, since, the bible can be boiled down to a book of morals.  A HIGHLY symbolic book of morals.  You know the drill, God is in each and every one of us, blah blah blah.  But once you think about it, all those hippie shit "freethinkers" have got something there.  Makes me wonder if my senseless hedonism is worth it.
    Then I think, "well, if the world is going to end, then fuck yeah."  Still a resounding argument from the Id.  While the Superego is always nagging, "get your shit together, be a good person, blah blah blah."  This goes on each and every day inside me until I have a headache that could part the Red Sea. 

Arm thyselves for the coming war.
And as always, happy reading.

Spaceship Earth

I sit under the spinning blades of

The skies churning, churning, and

I cry.

My life interrupted, once again.

I wonder if time is cyclical, if

I could really go back. But

What would I do?

Be locked away for raving

Nude in the parking lot of my

High school? Scream at myself

Again raving nude in the classroom

I once called Home.

Now all I can do is

Submit to the will of the

Opium drip drip dripping

Through my veins

Praying for an overdose.

An “accidental” death to

Justify my exit stage left from

This spaceship called Earth.

While I sit here, under the

Spinning blades of my life

I cry.

I scream to the gods to just let

Me die, to let my breath escape

My body, one measly second

At a time.

Profoundly intoxicated by this

Prophetic substance, dreaming

Dreams I once thought impossible.

I see the muddling existence led

By others sharing my pain.

I am sorry.

The only thing I want at this

Holy moment is to wander the streets

Of San Fransisco Portland and open

A heavy iron door to steam I know

Is Heaven. The holy moment

Enshrouded by this holy vapor,

THIS is my home.

Nodding off to the sick sounds

Of nothing there. Of parents and

Coworkers wonderingnotwondering

Where I am.

Who I've become.

If I'm safe.

Because on this spaceship called Earth,

No one is safe

Save enshrouded by that holy vapor.

Once I thought there was a title, but not I'm not so sure

    My apologies for not posting yesterday.  Busy busy busy.  Trying new things, sobriety for one.  Also, it's been a while since I've cried.  It felt good.  Almost feel like doing that now, if my eyes weren't burning out of my skull.  I honestly feel like a late night would be good for me.  Perhaps it would, I don't really know anymore.  Watching On the Road (the movie, I didn't sit and watch the book for two hours) really is making me want to live that life.  I've caught the Beat bug once again.  I only fear this won't be good for the likes of me.  Part of me wants to live a short life, burning twice as fast.  I am unsure that I would be twice as bright, on the other hand.  I've led that life, and it almost killed me.  I don't know if I want another go at that.  But goddamn, a drink sounds really good right about now.
    I've decided to live out of my notebooks from now on.  I love the feel of writing longhand.  It gets my ideas out in an organized way, as opposed to scrambled and put together in a very short amount of time.  Writing longhand helps me write better.  So, as of now I'll be living out of notebooks.  The trouble is, I always feel weird writing randomly in a notebook in the middle of class.  I am paranoid that someone will call me out on it, read over my shoulder, or make fun of me for it.  Though, the little fucks in my classes aren't really worth feeling hurt over.  Alas, the pain is still there.
    A lot of the time I feel as if I was born in the wrong era.  I have been obsessed with the Beat generation for a long time.  Though it went dormant when I got sober.  So now all I can think of when I think of the Beats are drugs.  I don't know if I can ever feel that same passion again.  That passionate wide-eyed sweat that comes from reading Howl, that wondrous and infectious thought that the truth is out there, somewhere and all that I have to do is search for it by any means necessary.  The senseless thoughtful hedonism that led the generation to literary legend.  I want to feel that again.  At the same time, though, I want to be healthy.  I want to be stable and I want to make something of my life.  Isn't the whole life of an artist devoted to chance, passion, and love?  The chance to do something great through your art, at the expense of everything else.  Something about that just sings to me its siren song.  If only I could do both.  Live a life of love, truth, wonder and still be stable enough to not have everyone around me hate me for who I am.
   I guess that's the rant of the day.  Just me, bearing my soul open and injured on the proverbial stage.  Just please, be careful with my heart.  It's the only thing I want to keep intact.

Happy reading.

Asking All the Right Questions

Rain travels upward

   In the lower levels of eternity,

     Wanderlusting through field

After field,

         Never asking why,

Only to find the answer

     To our question

Is exactly why.

At the mountains of

   Stark raving madness

     The gods drink scotch

Looking at the stars,

         Wondering if there's

Someone up there, listening

     To their prayers,

This is exactly why.

Exactly why our eyes

   Can't keep away from the

     Skyward shadows;

Can't keep wondering what's

         Living beneath our feet.

Can't stop ourselves from

     Asking all the wrong

Questions as to why.

Why do stars cry out at

   Midnight? Why do dogs

    Bark through shocked

Collars. You're goddamn right

         Why:

Because someone up there

     Is asking

All the wrong questions.

Wondering where the next

   Step will take us

     Feeling like there's nowhere

To go but

         Everywhere.

Everywhere at once,

     Only stopping to ask.

Why?

New Thing I Am Trying (Sketches!)

    Inspired by the late Jack Kerouac, I am going to start sketching.  But here's the twist, I am going to sketch with words!  I re-picked up the Book of Sketches by Jack Kerouac.  It has inspired me to sketch, at least once a day to keep up my writing chops.  I have gotten a bit rusty, especially in poetry.  I would love to be much better than I am at the moment.  So expect a sketch a day!  Practice practice practice!

    On a side note, I am now eight days completely sober and I've never felt better!  It's amazing, really.  I am motivated to do my work now (gasp!)  Well, at least work in some classes.  Others I am just too filled by hatred to concentrate.  Hey, baby steps right?  I think the secret to it all was hydration.  I had this crazy idea that it would make me feel better.  It has!  Also, limes are like a godsend right now.  They help a lot with cleansing the system, and I just got a big bag of them. 

Happy reading, comrades!

Sketch 1

Light stumbles through

The glass and film—

Wanderlust of the Gods—

Spinning blades weave

The static air through

The static of the TV.

Fantasmic fantasies

Of you, and I,

Rolling around—

Feeling 'round for

That one spot,

That one spot between

Consciousness,

Reality, and name—

Ecstasy (pure

Simple).

Routine—once

Thought drab,

Overdone, cliché,

Now holds my attention

Weaving in and out

Of sight—within

The mind—Within

My soul.

Glass plastic and

Wood await the

Telling of my story.

They wish for parts

That I possess

Lamenting the fact

They can't speak

Feel

Hear.

If my walls could speak,

O, the things they'd

Say—the stories they'd

Weave—Scream through

The glass panels and

Plaster.

I am—at the same time—

Glad and regretful the

Walls in this room can-

Not talk. I wish

To hear the words they'd

Use. The arc of story

Told by the wanderlust

Of the Gods.

The Girl with the Sunshine Eyes and Thundercloud Smile

I am waiting for

   The girl with the

   Sunshine eyes and

Thundercloud smile.

A face that I once

   Coveted, but the mind

   Behind was the target

Of all my affection.

And oh, my cloudless

   Days have the best

   Of me, raining from

My eyes in the night.

Leaving me sightless,

   Cold and soaked;

   Barely able to

Surface my head.

Where has the girl

   With the sunshine eyes

   And thundercloud smile

Gone? Will she return?

Will I find the light

   In this sunless night,

   Tripping and slipp-

Slip-

Slipping across my eyes?

Under the sunless sky,

  Lit by hope

   (Nostalgia)

A smirk is found

Spread across my face.

   This face, never

   Seen by this girl.

The girl with the sun-

Shine eyes and

   Thundercloud smile.

   The smirk fades.

A sigh barely heard

Over the gales,

   Ebbing through sight

   Flowing out of sound.

Oh, this astral girl

Inciting the winds to

   Blow away the dust,

   Blow away the grime.

God, let her sunshine eyes,

And thundercloud smile,

   Shine and rumble

   Across my sky.

Time Runs Thin

The music comes
To dramatic endings
      As the tick-tock eyes move
          Back and forth
        Back
      And
    Forth.
The four/four time of my heart
  Has filled the beats,
    And filled your soul.
          But music is what you speak,
      And music is my whole.
        Alas, time runs thin.
And my words ended in awkward clauses,
    Never finding the right notes,
  Not finding the right tone.
      I wanted to make you smile,
        But I ended up flat, clashing,
          My words in discord.
A brand-new notebook, filled
          With the ideas of a
  Mad man, yet
        Never finding their way in.
    The silence after the song fills
      The page, as
Time
     Runs
       Thin.

Late Posts

    Okay, so.  Last week was spring break for me, and it was busy.  To say the least.  I went camping the first three days.  Honestly it's a bit of a blur after that.  All I remember is the very long hike, next thing I know I'm in this woman's arms.  Arms I love very much, probably the best way to end the weekdays.  Except when she had to leave, I wanted her to stay in Austin.  But I thought she would have had more fun seeing buffalo and such.  Then, after a very chill day of doing nothing; I went to go see Eric Clapton.  I have to say, that was a hell of a concert!  I've only seen three other old guys who can rock that hard.  And I'm pretty sure they're gods.  At least demi-gods.  Either way, they all will go to musical Olympus, and be merry.
    I will try to post mostly every day from now on.  I seriously fell out of the habit of posting.  One thing I will fix, for sure.

Happy reading.

Night Winds

The wind of night creeps
Across my window.  The air;
Cold yet inviting, wishes me to
Walk the streets, wondering where I
Would end up.

But my heart, tells me no.
So I sit here, wondering
Just where I would end up.
I am enticed, yet afraid
Of what the night has to offer.

I try to bring myself
Back to the reason I am this way.
But the night, the darkness of
The night wind wishes me into
Wanderlust.

So I play music, try
To forget myself,
My past, the dark night.
I write to soothe my soul,
But the nightly wind

Blares through my headphones,
Straight into my head,
Planting the seed of
Doubt, regret, dismay.
I wonder if I will

Ever be right again.
I want to say I will.
I want to believe I
Will be who I have always
Wanted to be.

As I sit here,
Cold and alone.
I wonder when my life
Passed me by,
Travelling on the dark

Night winds.

Broken Moons and Afternoons

Broken afternoons

Give way to darkness,

That give way to forced words

And four by four blocks

Leading into the Ether.

These broken afternoons

Leave me tired and forgotten,

While I wish to be loved,

The loved have wishes.

What I have taken for granted

Is the only thing keeping me

Where I am, when I am.

But as this silver moon

Falls across the sky,
My heart fades.

My stomach turns and
I am left sitting alone

In the dark, wondering

What the fuck happened.
Whether I really like

Who I am, or what I've

Become, or what I will

Be.

But as this fading moon

Falls through the sky,

I am reminded of my past;

What I have been through

To get to where I am.

And while I would rather

Not think about them,
I am reminded of what I

Have been through.

Of what I have seen.

I've seen my blood dripping

From my legs as if it wanted

To escape the confines of my
veins. I've seen what's left

Of my heart be broken into pieces

Over this sacred Ether.

I've seen (or rather, felt)

My heart cut in twain over

What I thought was sacred.

I haven't had a good memory

In years.

But now,

When I am pondering

On my life now,
I feel as if I don't deserve

The good things I have.

I feel I am not

Worthy of such good fortune.

I wonder if I am where

I am because of fate,

Or just freak coincidence.

Watching this freak moon

Fall from the sky I

Realize that I am who

I am because of the

Actions I've taken in

My past life. What

I have taken for granted is

In the falling freak moon.

I am this moon, I am the sky.

This silver deity falling from

Me is only a reminder that
I have no stars left.

That, across my sky

I have nothing but

Fleeting memories that
I have no desire to remember.

From my falling sky,

From my rising moon

I wish for memories I don't have

To fall for.

Looking up at this sky,
I want nothing more than

An Earth to land on.