paul-james-valhalla-clear
American
Paul James Valhalla Clear is a peon of a bitter, cold feudal system once escaped and now infinitely stumbling aural landscapes and sonic machine shops. He was re-born in Detroit, Michigan where he learned the truest definition of values, fighting nail-and-tooth to hold them in the highest of light. He desires to create music, prose and poetry, but hasn't sacrificed enough in his life to do so. What a lightweight.
moons go
here i am more raw more sane
suns go
and thank god overcast is the anchor
tides peck
just try to be level
blinks stay
sleep on your own couch
buzzes unhum
drink more tea
planes land
*** in your own property fixtures
planes of land
busted circuit boards underneath us
friends go
and here i am
born
learned
and lookin to go
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
I wonder if you still have the same body
i dream about
******* it up
yeah
well, you should see my nightmares
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 11:47 PM UTC
When world war #again
Is a treaty written in headspace
When the titans and the collateral shrapnel
And children hiding in their cocooned mothers lanky grasp
All can relax a little more
Maybe a quiet foxhole
Or a foxy, quiet hole in the corner of an imaginary farmhouse
Might do the trick for where I draw my white flag
Though I can’t say
Cuz i’m unfortunately in world war. again.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 11:44 PM UTC
felines over the air, with goodnight glances. Furled up, knotted, branches out over you and the shadow makes sense (2+2), it’s familiar. It’s one eye closed when you’re REALLY drunk. I mean spell things upwards of four times. I mean talking and you really don’t give a **** drunk.
A bottle that’s paid for. Fuse is hissing, you stepped in the wrong county drunk. What am I doing here? “oh wait, you’re here” drunk. Toilets. Lots and lots of toilets drunk.
******* drunk.
Drunk with love. ******* let it go. “Formerly so easy” drunk. Not today pissy pants and shaved browline. No, not Today. Sober up *****
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 11:43 PM UTC
when an angel loses its wings they have to take an escalator. nobody points and laughs. nobody cries either.
its probably the silence that hurts the most. just like when i had to take an escalator. i felt like a teachers pet transferring schools for a military parent. hell i almost felt like the class pet fireball the splotchy hamster dying overnight.
all of you paying your respects
downraining the playground flowers
all because we shared the same battle or discomfort or inconvenience and then we had to part ways and maybe you’ll think of me sometime
because when an angel loses its wings and they have to take an escalator it seems like a really really empty department store at the bottom
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
a black horse and a white horse tangle in the blue black of midnight, somehow i hold on with a bridle laughing within my outer palm and pads of my fingertips. no framing nails no concrete shoes nothing holding me down with the pure rpm’s shellacking left to right like speed reading, or a flicker of fire just like it used to dance across your eyes when we lit the candles. i never saw my wildest dreams til i closed my eyes but neverthewhile did i fall asleep, neverdid i break any rules to get here, and somehow “never” became this personification that i used all the time- soon settled, cyclical sans stopping. ****
always. i always horizoned my pillowtop mattress, sunrise coming up across abdomens of sculpted morning-after a long sunday shut inside a curtain made of framed carpentry drywall and what have you. i sat along the crevasse of the bed with my legs becoming two telescoping camera stands, eyes hungover from all of the imagery that monsoons couldnt drench myself in- i lie here still, partly, and i wonder. where we were alone, i am alone. where we would sleep, i am sleep. where we would love, i am love.
and i guess that’s the map key, the legend, the gold standard.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 11:40 PM UTC
hello veil over a trench coat, i’ve come here to recite a few breaths and hopefully get you to take those sunglasses off (for my pride’s sake). just drop them around your ankles like your most comfortable pair of undergarments, kick them onto the beige bedroom rug and make me feel like a day early welfare check in a bread line full of starvation. slide me a napkin with a phone number from across the church pew. smoke my mind like a cigarette in the recovery ward waiting room. i bet you could slap the what teh **** off my face as swiftly as the day is long,
and it’s long.
and as teh world economy comes to a screeching halt and married men jump out of windows because money is some sort of commodity i will never truly truly truly understand, crying babies and ****** good womens remind me of you. grandmothers and the aunt everyone loves to hear drunk at christmas is your smile. your scent isn’t like my ****** relatives. that would be gross. and luxury automobiles and the adromeda galaxies in one corner of the paint job you happened to look a little too closely at is just a speck of your complexity misdialed like a phone number in a crosseye white pages disaster-
say i was to rush to this decision.
say i bent, hands on knees, puffing.
say joe camel between my pointer and middle finger kept both of them occupied for once
say i was running up to tell you that i don’t know you
but i think i should
i should
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 11:39 PM UTC
Can’t reverse
The rain is weepy
Barrel chested
Sloshing whiskey
Slowly nothing
Only list the(e)
Inner conflict
Conviction twisting
Falls on a tune
Octoberishly
Denial, wild,
Nihilism
Old soul
With a child’s wisdom
shut me up
Just throttle it some
Chrysler family
Blame the pistons
courtroom counsels
Intermissions
We stand the trial
Of your own symptoms
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
i might
fall for you
as
times new roman
falls off a typewriter
eases itself onto
8x11
how tinsel clouds
relax their shoulders
over the mountaintops
you knew
and your grandpaw knew too
i might rest my head that way on your chest
while the vinyl record needle
trudges through the black snow
crackling underfoot
your heart might sing to my buried ear
something like that
yeah
something like that
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 11:34 PM UTC
i have my grandfathers hands
these things that have built a lot
he passed them on
and i didn’t know
i didn’t know
i was looking for gifts
i was born into
something middle-
middle-class
and all along
all along
i’ve failed to look at these dreadful things
these beautiful ******* digits
and sometimes clumsy
heirloom’d palms
like a gift in my grandfather’s trunk
thank you
old man
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 11:31 PM UTC