Lately, I've tried to relate greatly to the daily slew of poppy brew and wisdom grew by the tv news crew spittin their wisdom from the pedestal push of the routine pedal stool mush that slid across the floor of lava rocks and hot spots that rupture soon enough when the keys rattle in doorknob and the whiny creak opens with meek silhouettes on shadowy walls of latex seepage...the colors' fingers stretch from the threads, penetrate the outlet, crawl through the cord, and tap my brain through the spine post run. Whiskey was the inception, but the jar was the culprit for sure: the vessel that drilled my brains and scratched the black background noise of my dreams. Logic plays in the background but the car fume imagery bores me lately. Need someone else to care to pretend for a minute, need two cafecitos to go, need three job securities to take a vacation from three life voids, y necesito una chica seria for the rest of this conversation...unless the inconvenience of engagement confuses she like the language attempts on me. Gone fishing, for the missing, for the family don't listen, for the docks do rock, and the waves make the the light prowl the wake off the take of the bow of the ballast aft tower. Opportuney viola sin duda, ninazungumza kiswahili...clock me in, blanket spanker, tuck away your worries. I love you and care about you too
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 1:42 AM UTC
Paying rent and walking to school;
Buying text books that just make me drool:
Why must I do these scary, dumb things?
What end should I seeks from ambiguous schemes?
I suppose that little piece of paper pays off:
A degree in BS--or 'life skills' I've been taught;
Well who's life, I ask, for surely not mine;
I don't need money or a house, I'm just fine!
Why must we all pursue this professional life...this American dream?
There are so many other, simple ways match esteem.
I'm tired of approval and guilt come from lack!
I'm tired of the weight of expectations on my back!
I'm tired of pursuing this life I don't want!
I'm tired of college, of debt, and of taunt!
I do need a better job: that's agreed!
But I don't need a job that can't see me for me...just some degree.....like a dog of a higher pedigree...a little fish in an over-saturated, inflated sea of qualification, mastery, and certain uncertainty.
What happened to spontaneity? To chasing a dream? To not letting anyone run your life? I guess it died in your childhood with you same as me? So follow me down this stream of conformity to the white collar life in a box routine, oh joy.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
A mile to work and a mile to home;
I roam this bay town more often alone
Than with anyone else who's willing to stay;
I fray and I wither like Bill back in the day
Of those times so funky where music was fresh;
Outta breath I would get singing along in my vette:
I pretend, quite often, that instead I do own;
But no, it's well know of my junker I roam
That I travel point A to point B by such mode;
Yes, I go via foot or death trap on the road
That is ever before me and ready to fight;
Whether night or day light, my knees give their might
And walk and stomp and push best they can;
Whether sit or stand or cross bridges off land
I do hope to pickup a better way,
Less stranger;
But danger aside, I drive on: me and my ford ranger.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 11:28 PM UTC
Closed in so tight by this ten-cornered room;
It rains through the window with thunder and gloom.
The branches reach out and scratch with anxiety;
But my window stays closed, as I pose in shear piety.
I blast my heart-attack music as loud as she dares;
Rest on the bed deep in thought with no cares.
Need some water, cotton mouthes swam in the same canal as me as a child, and memory manifests.
Tuck myself in comfortably about my new nest;
And what's best, or even better, or maybe just a tad less:
Is that I just cannot come to accept the fact that life is worth breathing without you:
Especially, lately--eyes shaking, dry heaving in doubt of truth.
Pretty sure you know what I mean, unless I'm asleep once again, and this is just a memory of a dream on replay. Who knows these days. Certainly ways...to stay lazy and lose thought when down under
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 1:22 PM UTC
Just let my fingers type, as they may, and feel your curves of energy. I feel your frequencies through simple words enough to sense emotion.
Subtle language, you may use, to convey thought's connection:
I understand them sure the same as looking at your complexion; don't take much introspection, did I mention bout to have a mean intervention with myself, stick around if you're down off the shelf, amount another, no wonder. Any way, here we go:
So I was off for a stroll earlier today, thinking about problems 'stead of appreciating the good things in life, when I came upon this sudden realization, I need separation from my loved ones to appreciate their true caring for me at the level it is. I...what is wrong with me-the mindless, brainless, shameless, blameless, tameless, circumstantial-rainless one, who cannot seem to come to agreement with his Mother about where to live fun-thought sieving through the sand ground.
Cannot keep going, getting sloppy. Close the tomb. Words are confused like a brainless bafoon.
No more swoonin for ya,
Swim quick like pain at the door for ya. Then let the energy store more, adorn the shores of need-to-do-this lists and other various chores, and what's more, I've gone on autopilot and let the trail behind my word with the last of my day's energies, blessed down the sun upon me.
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 12:38 AM UTC
Why did you think your opinion should shed?
Some kinda brash lettin words outcha head.
No body said your words should be spoken.
Re-fuddle them fumblin foul things now broken.
You always give up so soon, too soon.
You always relax beneath the full moon.
And you try and you try to socialize more;
But your eyelids resist and you can't cross the door.
And the wispy wisp-wisps float up over brow;
Such peripheral tests in a lofty soft style.
Night time becomes such a strange, sad routine:
Ever in thought sliding ever in dreams.
I sit in my lounge watching night time close in;
My head is laid back, thoughts are stacked, let's begin.
I'm losing my rhythm, my floating on back;
I'm slowly now melting, for buoyancy lacks.
Good night now to consciousness ever in sight;
Good luck to all out there with what's wrong and what's right.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 12:44 AM UTC
Space is gone,
Feet off the ground,
Gotta few thoughts,
So I'm throwin em down.
Lesson 1 learned:
Gotta freshly express,
Just a walk in the rain,
And I'm feeling refreshed.
Seeing colors and vibes,
The energies flow,
Got a graceful impression,
Of this frequency low;
Had a terrible stumble,
In a wonder so deep,
Felt the waves of the ocean,
20 miles from sea;
Quite in tune with nature,
Kissed the clouds from above,
Got a taste of the winter,
From the bottom of the tub;
Such a cold sensation,
I haven't felt in so long,
Such a powerful thought,
I've forgotten, forlorn.
Still yet to have my tea,
For the nightcap per close,
Wipe the tired out my eyes,
With the brew nightmare shows;
Thoughts got dark for a spell,
And the fence sure did squeak,
Had to run from bad thoughts,
And return to the creek;
The place way back,
In my memories deep,
Where I swam with the snakes,
And the dreams kept me meek.
Time to call it quits,
Can't connect thoughts no more,
Bout to pass out for now,
Leave this day-drift from shore.
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 12:36 AM UTC
Babe, I love kissing you like sipping hot tea;
I go sip after sip, and you're always so sweet.
Burn my mouth if I must to have that nice taste;
See myself in reflections so close to my face.
Cheek-bones touch the holy fountain;
Youth again I have obtained;
Seen my eyes bounce back within;
Whet again, my tongue's edged flame.
Cannot communicate through this facade;
I guess we're done, the haze has won:
I've lost God.
Thanks for such a nice attempt, see you in some other life my friend.
I've lost the ability to say what I mean and to mean what I say;
And I'm scared of conversation, so I shamefully publicly pray.
That makes me a poet, too many would say;
A cynical stance I'd have to portray:
Spreading Gods word is duty, no doubt;
But forcing it on others ain't what Gods about;
Listen to me preach if you have any doubts;
I'll silence your ulterior motives right out.
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 12:30 AM UTC
Check it,
I wreck it,
On the mic I get hectic;
I'm like a broken mirror, look, I'm bad luck reflectin.
When I'm drunk I see in two's,
I smoke the skunk to find my muse,
Lysdexic con-, I'm real -fused,
And though you have to pick and choose,
I'm both the tortoise and the hare: I never lose;
I'm real smoothe,
But I can cruise.
New thoughts,
I lay em down,
From the top,
I'm breaking ground.
Faucet runnin,
Hot new flow,
Thoughts is stunnin,
Here we go:
Preferred fuel is butane,
Lyrical spark ignites flame,
And yes my rhymes is insane,
Never premeditate game.
And here's another,
No really, you can have it for free:
We all started out white,
As a ***** turned to seed;
And my my,
How I've grown,
And turnt thoughts into gold,
Just call me new school alchemist,
My methods be fresh and untold.
Not a bad little verse,
From the old t-o-p,
Now Imma finish shapooin,
Cause I'm so fresh and so clean.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 1:49 AM UTC
I told my family about you. It's hard for me to talk to anyone these days, but I did it...I tried my very best, and for reasons as they go, you were all I could manage to hold in conversation. My sister wants to meet you. She can tell I've changed--my mind or my manor...just something--and she wants to see who's done it. She's always been quite sensitive to these subtle things, more so than the others, and she knew right away I had changed, and you were the one who did it to me.
I miss you so much. I'm home--I guess that's what I should call it...my family all lives here, but I never have, and it's never truly felt like home to me--but I'd rather be with you. I'm so torn! I feel guilt and sadness and joy like I've never felt before all at the same time. I want to spend time with my family because I see them so rarely now while at school, and I hate missing the kids grow up because they are indeed growing so fast--too fast--but at the same time, I cannot pass through a single moment without thinking about you and that time when I will see your face again and embrace your person like I wish to now and every second. It makes me sad that we are not together, that you are not here to cuddle on this bed like you are back at school, that I'd rather be somewhere else with you than here with my family now. I'm a terrible son and a horrible brother, but I know deep down where it really matters that I'd rather be where you are...where we were. In the South, where I felt alive, where sickness never bothered me, where I felt warmth when the Sun shined and not shame, where I felt home at last, there with you. But no, instead I'm here in the dreadful north...where sickness breaks my back and kicks me while I'm down, where guilt and shame count my days and exhaustion kills me quicker. I love my family, I've missed them so much, but I know they are stronger than me and need not my smile to fight back the weather. I must return back South. I must find you. I'll meet you there, at school, at home, my home, our home. My home.
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC