change?

She hadn't seen him in a week or so, since he'd run out of their class. Shit, Dave hadn't actually made it to the class, but she wouldn’t admit that. Seven months along, she figured she was fooling everyone, including herself. The bottles piled up, but the baby'd be ok. A little vodka never hurt anyone. We’re made stronger in this part of the country. We got through the war. We got through it ok. So she forgot about Dave, for awhile. And the vodka helped her to feel good.

Besides, things went on. Charlie still had to get up every day and make it to first period or he wouldn’t graduate. That was the agreement. She’d put up a few bucks more than she had for that bike, but how else would he get there? And every morning at 7 am, Darrel’s police car was parked at the end of their road, near route 20, ready to escort Charlie to school, whether he liked it or not. And things went on.

But these new things, this new problem, wasn’t right. She was getting ideas that couldn’t be explained away by reasonable thought. At least, not her own idea of reasonable thought. Though she would never have been able to think of it this way, thought for her was like exhaust…noxious emissions shat out every once in a while, when the engine needed release. During whatever job-related task she was performing, she’d work her mind needlessly with senseless repetition- ruminations on nothing…and suddenly these amazing, crazy, otherworldly rainbows of ideas started coming to her. It was quite the surprise. She didn’t feel like she was worthy, or that she belonged. She felt like a wrong number, or a bad address. She felt like a mistake. Mostly, she felt like a winged, three-armed, lisping keynote speaker at a Mensa awards ceremony.

And life went on.

So now, for him to be knocking on the door, at 11 pm on a Tuesday, got her fur up. She’d been sleeping, soundly for once, and she was pissed.

But what would she say? What could she say? Jesus would know. She went to ask him.

You Don't Get It.

‘You don’t get it,’ she whispered, glancing back over her shoulder as she danced out of sight down the darkened hallway. ‘You never did. You were always too busy with those writings of yours…your books, your poetry, nothing that ever went anywhere, did it?’

I stood in the dusk-hued living room, watching her fade into the shadows, hating her more than yesterday. Biting back the retort that would start her packing her things. Like she wouldn’t be, soon. I only thought, Lisa, if you think you’ll find someone who will put up with you like I do…

‘It’s not like you can find anyone like me, anyway,’ she called from the back rooms in a lilting, teasing voice. ‘You’re such a sad sack has-been, who’d want to look at you, spend time with you, smell you, fuck you?’ I could hear the palpable disgust in her voice, but I just tightened my hands into fists and grinned my thin-lipped smile. You’re lucky, I thought, that I haven’t killed you yet. The earth would spit up your remains, you acidic cunt. I couldn’t hide my crime.

‘You’re such a woman, Dale. Whatever happened to your balls?’ I heard laughter in her tone as she came back up the hallway, slowly forming again in the fading sunset, her face a mask of sarcasm and, worst of all, pity. She pitied me. Terribly ironic, when she was the one who couldn’t love.

I walked out onto the balcony where the soft breeze lifted my hair up and dried my eyes. The sun slipped down over the painted west, and I looked down 19 floors where the building slipped down to certain death. Her death? When her body hit the hard sidewalk, would her bones explode out through her skin like pencils bursting? Would her tepid, frozen heart crack the pavement?

‘Are you even fucking listening to me, Dale?’

‘No,’ I whispered. ‘Why would I start now?’ I climbed up onto the railing and balanced myself tenuously. The wind picked up, and my heart leapt with joy. Could I fly? Once, I could, yes. Long ago. Perhaps today I’d remember how.

Nonsense.

so why do i write this blog?

i was just wondering that myself. mostly for my own amusement, mostly. do i add anything to the general throughput of consciousness/love/hate/fucking/human experience in general? i don't know, and i guess i don't give a shit. i think some of my poems are pretty good, and every once in a while i'll come up with something funny that actually makes me laugh out loud, which is something i rarely do these days- laugh out loud. i said something funny at runyon today that made chris laugh. i sent a funny text last night. i wish for these clouds to lift soon enough. not in real life. the weather can stay gloomy as long as it wants. but i want my own interior sun to shine.

chuck, if you're reading this, you're welcome out here any old time. we can go to the beach, eat some shrooms, and go swimming.

wonderful

wonderful that beneath
the tone of your voice
i can feel love
and although i've taken your worst
i still attract kindness
and truth
and patience...
you whore.

absolute zero

the temperature where your veins freeze
your heart dies
where the muscle toughens
and hardens
and your soul dies,
just a bit,
day by day,
while you shed your
childhood skin,
put your toys away,
and defend yourself
against those you love.

skin

skin
dogwood trees and wasps
plotting their revenge
as i await fierce retribution
you never knew me

the storms we watched
from our safe chairs
at 3 am
rounded my eyes
and softened my tongue
i never knew you

10 years on
i don't fucking care.

The Great American Cross Country Road Trip*

so anyway, i've been wanting to do this for years and have always SAID i've wanted to do this for years, and now i'm getting to do this. sunday the 22nd i am flying up to san jose, meeting my brother in law (steve, christina's brother from her mom's side), and we are driving from there to indianapolis. i am not certain of the route we're taking yet. we are driving in a 2002 lime green volkswagon beetle. i'm considering putting a rainbow sticker on the back before we set out.

i am bringing my old canon ae-1 film camera and many, many rolls of film, black and white, sepia, and color. i hope to get a shitload of pictures of america. i am going out into the countryside of america to see it. i've never seen it.

so that's where i'll be in a week.


*i reserve the right to edit this as i see fit. trip has been postponed to april 19 due to weather and driving concerns.

Rachael Burton

if anybody out there knows a girl named rachael burton who used to live (still lives?) in las vegas from 96 to 98 (maybe longer, but that's when i knew her), lemme know. i know she worked at cirque du soleil for awhile, and she had relatives in texas as well. she's gotta be around my age now. i met her while i was working at the thomas and mack center ticket office. only she would know the opening line i used on her.

i think i want to apologize to her. maybe she remembers why. anyway, this is probably a terrible long shot that will never come to fruition, but i figured i'd put it out there.

thanks

thank you, people i don't know, for following my blog. in your honor, i am typing left handed today. also because my right hand is wrapped in gauze.

skay

skay, i say
skay today
skay tomorrow
skay away
forests running
off the path
trees forever
failed math
love your smile
love your truth
nothing's dying
here's the proof

get me away from here, i'm dying

Ooh, get me away from here, I'm dying
Play me a song to set me free
Nobody writes them like they used to
So it may as well be me
Here on my own now after hours
Here on my own now on a bus
Think of it this way
You could either be successful or be us
With our winning smiles, and us
With our catchy tunes and words
Now we're photogenic
You know, we don't stand a chance

Oh, I'll settle down with some old story
About a boy who's just like me
Thought there was love in everything and everyone
You're so naive.
They always reach a sorry ending
They always get it in the end
Still it was worth it as I turned the pages solemnly, and then
With a winning smile, the poor boy
With naivety succeeds
At the final moment, I cried
I always cry at endings

Oh, that wasn't what I meant to say at all
From where I'm sitting, rain
Falling against the lonely tenement
Has set my mind to wander
Into the windows of my lovers
They never know unless I write
"This is no declaration, I just thought I'd let you know goodbye"
Said the hero in the story
"It is mightier than swords
I could kill you sure
But I could only make you cry with these words"

-Belle & Sebastian, If You're Feeling Sinister

i invoke thee

i invoke those powers that can and will to undo the changes that have been done against me by powers that have no good will towards me.

i invoke thee now.

everyday

everydayeveryday
everything makes you go away
dig deeper behind the house
dig inside my head
stay awake and stay dead
leave me alone

yikes, he thought, that's way too goth.
time to shoot it between his toes.

get away...get out

you have...too much
you have put too much
into the hallways
into the future ways
of worlds that will be less
with your breath
with your feeling
with your moves

your words fall
unfeeling
into the fog of the future
stop now
before we all fall over
crying and alone

PCH

man left in winter too long
watching grey skies
watching winter left
away from here
hating winter ways
hating winter, says
i wish you were here
because i'm not moving
i'm not moving on

Chris Cornell stars in new Disney film

See, I was just talking to my friend CongestedCoho about what a great fucking marketing plan Chris Cornell must have in his head. Mr. Coho was raving and jabbering about the Cornell's new album, produced by Timbaland and available for streaming now at his MySpace page. Google it if you care; I'm not staining this page with the link.

Anyway, Coho was going on about how the whole fucking thing sounds like runny, bubbling ass. Imagine the worst music you've ever heard. Worse than Nickelback. Way worse than N*Sync and New Kids On The Rock and shit like that. Imagine your grandmother farting next to you in the car on a five hour road trip. That bad. I couldn't do it- couldn't subject myself to the horror- so I let Coho be my guide.

Now, why the fuck does Chris Cornell- once a well respected member of rock n' roll's pseudo-elite as the singer of Soundgarden- think that jumping on the rapidly fading Timbaland beat bandwagon will resurrect his own fading career? Does Cornell really think 'the kids' are going to ride his big fat veiny throbbing cock because of some poorly written and produced songs on the radio, songs that might get a few spins in the beginning because of the pedigree, but should quickly fade? I mean, isn't that the textbook definition of selling out?

Anyway, then I found out that The Mouse is making High School Musical 4. Nothing to do with monetary interests, I'm sure, since the 3rd one only made $250 MILLION worldwide on an $11 million budget. $11 million? What the fuck cost $11 million in that piece of shit (that I've never seen and never will) anyway? The coke for the teen stars? Anyway, I think if Chris Cornell really wants to hit the big time in his new career renaissance, he should either 1) Get a song placed in HSM4, 2) Play a minister/principal/pimp in HSM4 or 3) Shoot himself. All three, in order, would be great.

Time for a cheeseburger!

9o9ok.unmtbmvng6;io

let me tell you a story
about a woman and a man-a-a-a-an
maybe you will find familiar
maybe you wont understand
the mans name i dont remember
he was always zom to me-ee-ee-ee-ee
but i cant forget the woman
she was always pooddelle
poodellee poodelee
poodellee-ee
whooo hoo
hoo
ya know the man had an educated zomster
the know the man had the power to stroke long
but poodelee was a diferent kind of zomba
she didnt want no grapes on toast
all she wanted was his bone.


some people look at the door in thier house
the one right in front
the front door
they say they want to go out
but they cant cause theyre
not ready
theyve got.....
acrophobia
acrophobia
yeah yeah yeah
acrophoiba acrophoriba
zomba
hahaahahahhaha


if you want to dance the zom zomba
you got to know the moves
you gotta be able to fly
and levitate and dance under the sheet
with my head giveing donkey
zomster
is here
to say
that the man
wil
be here
to gove
a lecture
on the possibility of
nuclere
waste covering our land



look out the window and what do you see
poo-oo-oo-oodelleee
look in the kitchen and what do you see
ah!a bunch of zomsters following me
i see in your eyes
the look of fright
i see that you want to be by my side
cause theyees a zomster in the kiicthen
and its gonna eat you up ytheres a zomster
out there somewhere
and its gonna eat you up
oh podelee
oh poddelleee
poodeleee
poodelee
oh yeah zomster
pooooooooooooooooo.....delllllllll.....eeeeeeeeeeee!
YEAH!!!!

bleat

like giraffes lope over your old high school notebooks
you'll never make up shit like that again
you'll never be able
to run through the halls
to eat that education
to laugh at those ugly girls
to be so impotent
or so drunk on stupid words
ever again
you're lost
you're gone
you're dead

wake up

don't this make you hate me?

doesn't it make you
want to dance on coals
dance on the hot embers
where once you sat
aware of change
once you made it
your own word
your own foolish response
listen to your music
drive your car
kiss her fierce
and quick
she'll be gone
tomorrow.

you're

you're like something new
something that i wanted
when i was your age
when i had nothing
when i was born
they made me
they hurt me
and killed me
and buried me
but they didn't expect me
to rise up.