First came the false presumptions of luxury
The gaudy glamour
Bright dresses and dark suits
Awkward glances and ****** food
Eventually though
The evening settled down
And then, after the smoking and drinking
Came 1 o'clock, the worn-out end of a hazy day

Suddenly,
It was a smother of time,
a stifling landscape of clocks
a decaying of darkness
The night gave way to trembling cold delirium
And slow and slow down
A slide from reality
Everything fell

I remember barely a glimmer- a hand, an arm, red sheets somewhere
Eyes that whispered "what's wrong with her? what's her deal?"
Or worse yet, faces that didn't care
To see me, my wrists
Appalling in all their shivering shaken chill dust
In moments like this,
I am nothing but a fearful machine
Broken in its deepest workings,
All function altered.

Clamors and tremors of panic
Withered illusions gathered at my feet like kittens
I tossed the blanket from the makeshift bed
Lay upon my back and waited
Watched, frightened, the night revealing
The hundred ignoble, vile images
Of which my thoughts seems consisted of

They flickered at bit- against the burgundy hammock
And empty Baccardi bottles
2 o'clock shook the memory
A crowd of twisted things,
Torn and stained and coiling about my wrists
I move by the sway of these thoughts that are curled around me
-The notion of some infinitely suffering thing

Oh I only need a lighthouse
To guide my soon-to-be shipwreck home
I only need a compass, a crucifix, a presence
But never
never to be found
the way

You tell me that I am young
That life has merely licked me, not stung
That I do not understand, that I have not yet lived
Enough to grasp the substance

I have known disease
Slow tears, muted pleas
Pain that nothing could appease
I have known the smell of hospitals for summers
The beeping and slurping of machine in massive numbers

I have spoken to voiceless loved ones,
Loved ones with teethless mouths and twisted tongues
Distorted jaws and wheezing lungs.
We have spoken with little green charts
And broken hearts
From the inability to connect the mouth to the thoughts in the head
And I left without understanding,
What they had said
Because I eventually had to let it go
(I still don't know)

I have spent countless summer nights
In nature’s garb, floating silently in a river
So warm that my limbs, skimming the surface, didn't shiver
Under a clear sky, the stars like paradisiac lights
Without anyone ever finding out
About these wild and primal escapades

I've drank, I've smoked
I have burned my throat
With coarse lemon gin
Until I could no longer feel my skin.

I have been frightened
Yes I have felt fear, like a noose around my throat being tightened
Like a gruesome black crow, perched on my shoulder
I have often awoken affright at night,
Longing, praying, for the morning light
I have felt fear, wild, fierce and turbulent fear
More than anyone will everyone will ever know
By men, by life, by myself
Desolate under the sheets, like a forsaken toy
All by myself

I have seen Paris in the rain
Traveled the French countryside by train
I've woken up to New York window views
And seen New Orleans afternoons, filled with heat and blues.
I've swam the Mexican Baja waters, turquoise and clear
With snakes as sharp as spears

I have known humiliation
Causing my cheeks to turn carnation
A spoon, emptying my insides out
Like a gourd

I have loved
I have known the aching pain of a swelled heart
And the way it can tear you apart
I have gushed torrents upon my pillows and sleeves
Tears running down my chin like guilty thieves
From a lit-up house

I have known death, and grief
The meaning of "never"
Whimpering in the school bathroom
And cold, lonely nights

I have seen the works of Van Gogh, Mondrian, and Miro,
Modigliani, Cezanne, and Frida Kahlo
Of Monet, Gauguin, Matisse, Magritte, and Picasso
I have wandered through hallways of masterpieces
Holding tight to my grandmother's hand
And I have wept shamelessly for joy
Before Degas's La classe de danse

I have been diagnosed
I have undergone computer programs designed to shift my brain, to better it
To get me to be normal, to submit
I have had brain-altering medicine shoved down my throat,
Like stuffing a goose,
To make my brain run a little less loose
And I have submitted and gotten use to my brain being altered.

I have had kisses that were mere trifles
Frivolous, yet fierce and acute like shots from a rifle
Lips of mere flesh, not sweet godly nectar
And gazes that meant everything
That seemed to connect with an invisible yet indestructible string
Iris like distant galaxies and pupils twinkling like black jewels
Eyes that seemed enkindled by some ethereal fuel
Speaking of emotions far too secluded, cryptic and cluttered
To be worded and uttered

I know the way in which violence resides
Not in commotion, brusqueness, nor physical harm
But in silence
In the time that covers pain and secrets
In the slow impossibility of trust
In the way that some secrets become inconceivable to tell, time has so covered them in rust
In that dull, dismal ache
In all that is doomed to remain forever opaque.

I have read, for pleasure,
The works of Balzac, Fitzgerald, Steinbeck, and Voltaire
Of Bobin, Gaude, and Baudelaire
Of Flaubert, Hemingway
and good old Bradbury, Ray
Émile Zola,  Primo Levi
Moliere, Rousseau, and Bukowski
I have read, and loved, and understood

I have known insomnia
The way a beach knows the tides
Sleepless nights of convulsive, feverish panic, of clutching my sides,
Of silent hysteria and salty terror.
I know what happens at night, when sweet slumber seems so far away
The worries and woes seem to multiply and swell in hopeless disarray
My lips grow pale, my eye grow sunken
As a time ticks by, tomorrow darkens




I have witnessed horror
In the form of a blue body bag
Being rolled out with a squeaking drag
By two yellow-vested men
With apologetic eyes
That seemed to say "Oh god
We're so sorry you had to see that
Please, please
Go home
And try to forget"

But you are right
I am still just a child
Naive, innocent, and pure
I have known nothing dark or obscure
I have not yet lived.

Why people feel the need or desire to
Listen to the radio
Or surround themselves with machines that whir and beep
Or white noise to fall asleep
Or go to concerts
Is beyond me
I don't understand why
People want noise all the time
They're committing a terrible crime!
They mutilate silence
Tarnish delicate laconism
And mangle quiet
Machines everywhere!
Machines and devices, noise and distraction from the essence of life
Tooting, blaring, screeching, whistling, crashing
Honking, booming cracking, grinding, and trilling!
We happily bask in this cacophony

So much noise that we tend to forget that
How truly precious real silence is-
A gold nugget in a long, tumultuous river.
Yet we don't want any of it, not even a sliver
Silence is that which comes nearest to expressing the ineffable
It's so pure and so true, so delectable
Silence is a true friend who never betrays
Whatever has happened to saying it all with a simple gaze?
Words are by no means proof of wisdom
Silence isn't ignorance or dullness of mind
Silence is refined
Silence is
A pause between birdsongs
The mournful song of lonely hearts
The sigh of a tree
The shift of the clouds
The obscure and perishing rhythm of forgotten thoughts
The throb of the summer sun
The timid streaming of tears down a child's cheek
The fall of a snowflake
The pulse of the veins on a frail white wrist
And a kiss between whispered promises

Babble is empty
And words, like wire
May seem solid
Yet they can be twisted to resemble anything-
Weak promises, false prayers, delusive prophecies
And can easily be broken, if one distorts them enough.

Silence is more eloquent than phrases
It is not nothing
It has a form, dimension, substance
A texture and quality of its own
So many people associate it with mystery, privacy and isolation
When really it reveals it all
Silence can be jealous; rough and small
It can be peaceful; blue and hazy
It can be tumultuous; confused and crazy
Silence can be loving; soft and surrounding
Or it can be spiteful; violent and pounding
Silence can chaste; reserved and shy
Or it can sensual, with a voluptuous sigh
Silence can be puzzled; blurry and nauseous
It can be disgusted; halting and cautious
Silence can be grieving; a falling apart
It can be horribly heavy; the weighing of unspoken secrets on a fragile heart
Silence can be anything
Agitated, insecure, submissive or authoritative
Giddy or gloomy, vicious or respectful
Silence contains it all
Every word, every language,
All the knowledge, all the memories, all the emotions
If you've ever watched a sunrise, or been in love, or spent a night home alone, or sat in grieving silence as someone held your hand
Then you know this

The silly young, the brash and impatient ones, always break the silence
With gossip and music and profanity and small talk
They always giggle, interrupt, argue and squawk
Constant conversations, words, motions, defense, offense, back and forth
Yet those who are comfortable with each other can sit without speaking
Because to love and be quiet is enough
To hold hands and not say a word is enough
Silence is the gift of the world that we've pushed aside
A precious gift wrapped in white that we've rudely denied
Silence is the highest form of thought
And it is by slowly developing this mute contemplation in us that we will,
Step by step,
With reflections, speculations, and musing
Be able to reach what is true about ourselves.
When we are quiet and timid
We sit silently and watch the world around us
We see things, we read things, we hear things that others don't, we keep quiet about them, and we understand.

I don't understand why people fear the hush
Perhaps people are afraid to surrender to the clear ****** of it
Maybe all these fools think that to keep quiet is to erase yourself
Maybe they associate silence with loss of life
Perhaps some of them know that listening to the silence can be painful
That it can reveal the pain of the world
So they cower and shy away from it

Yet look at what I've done
I'm just like the rest of them, aren't I?
I wrote and wrote, yet what do all these words mean?
How pretentious of me to think I could be one to put silence into words

The leeching color from my eyes
My parched mouth puckered
My joints are stiff, stubborn and brittle
Creaking like exhausted floorboards
Wringing my fists, white ands shriveled
Twisting my hands, skinned and raw
I'm ill with desperate thriving
Too weak to carry on, don't have the choice
Veins laden with liqueur, thinning hopes and regret
Pulsing pulsing pulsing
Bones fluttering with birds of bad omen
Scalp rid of hair to make place for the thorny crown of vanquishment
Blood diluted with bitter disappointment,
Sloshing, smearing through my mucked-up system
Aching from the deadly drone of existence
From small victories, large defeats
I'm the mortar, they're the pestle
Clobbering into my hollowed life.

The hammer of that thing
Routine so dull and tedious
Pounding and pounding and pounding
When you can't even scream or weep
Thud thud thud
My temples scream with dank submission
My brain is reeling, hurling from the vertigo of it all.

Morning, noon & night
The dead avenues, the empty buzzing
Beats hammers in my brain
Throb throb throb
I'm quivering with numbness.

I'm mature now, I'm ripe
So ripened and rotten
Adult things, adult preoccupations pulsing around me
It seems like person really only has two choices
Get in on the aimless hustle or be forsaken
I've taken it all up
Rent, coffee, wine, cigarettes and newspaper
Forgotten pills
Unpaid bills
Thump thump thump
Anguish, pain, woe and misery
Turbulence and stress, the banging hammer.

I'm a drunkard, a wanderer
With a beaten, battered suitcase
Days like these, weeks like these, when all the weapons are pointed at me
I'm a ***, an outcast
A pigeon in the pummeling rain
Dribble dribble splash
The ache is a relentless thing.

My job, my rent, my house
My walls limp with memories stuck with rotting glue
Wallpaper torn, curling at the edges
The cold hard floor radiates and screams
The couch, cold & hollow
Incrusted with bits of filthy grime
The dead radiator hisses like an angry snake
The shades down, no sunlight
No life seeping through the venetian blinds
And my clothing sits in the chairs
Like the dead emptied out
The blankets are thin, frayed and tattered
As hope is
The moths, on the other hand, are alive and well
They weave webs of moribund rot
Interlacing me into their strands of decay.

Surrounded by the coldhearted, they snarl
And their laughs abash, dishearten the pure
Bruising me relentlessly
They are so tired, mutilated
either by love or no love
All their bleak and sunken eyes
All their weak and drunken souls
All their meek and shrunken hearts
Vultures with neckties
Weasels in frocks
Collared beasts, that's all they are.

The mournful poet with the shrapnel wound
Was so wrong
I guess he wanted to be lyrical, but his words led astray
Time is not water
It does not flow easy, smooth and transparent
It drags you into dark alleys and batters the hell out of you
Punches you in the ribs, rips your skin,
Jerks you by your hair, stabs you, disfigures you
Leaves you crippled and broken, gasping for air.

Sweating in a rocker
Lanky skeleton hands clasped, praying- for what?
I'm not living, or dying
I'm simply crawling backward
Or no, I'm not crawling, I'm being dragged,
Through nights of lonely perfidy, breathing the beaten dusty air
The dark wind wailing, ebbing through the frail curtains
Laying in bed, too wretched to move
When memories, of heaven and hell,
Droop like broken shades
Across the window of my mind
And ****, I can feel my soul slowly dropping down through the mattress
My stomach is heaving, my teeth clenched and gritted
But not with fear, no, it's too late for dread
And it *****, because we realize we were all so caught up in a life in which we can find no meaning...we end up wrong and graceless and sick
We're born shriveled and alone, we die shriveled and alone
No matter what.

ok so here is what we are going to do
i'm going to get a bout de souffle
what was i gonna do..
one thing getting to nether still need you
are you all here
one thing getting getting to noter
288 guitars 
i've been hoping  don't get much dumber 
and getting to noter
this movie is not yet rated
i'm kind of trying to decide
i will send an email to your parents
so… just off the bat 
your parents are not ok with that 
kind of thing
she was out there interviewing her?
right there… have you seen that? ok good
movie theater to hide
c'est rare
reste avec moi
ciao petite fiiiille
elle est la bas je crois
vous parlez français? yes
attention ma petite fille on ne plaisante pas avec la police parisienne
you think i'm lying? you are
i didn't see you
you don't believe me
bonjour mignonne
qu'es ce qu'il dise
les flics me recherche
parle le moi quoi? ca alors
tu es marie
c'est trop **** maintenant d'avoir peur
bonsoir madame
il faut absolument que je trouve antonio
accelere minouche
il est alle a monpellier
why don't you smile
it would certainly surprise me
sourrrit sourrrit
je pense a quelque chose?
je ne sais pas
je voulais être seule
c'est finis
tu m'emmene au champs elysee
au revoir 
tentez votre chance
un cafe alors
moi je peux pas partir
et puisque je suis méchante avec toi c'est la preuve que je suis pas amoureuse de toi
ahh c'est trop complique
j'ai envie de dormir
c'est vraiment dégueulasse
how would you relate
destroy the rules
young actors
....sommes seuls, cette certitude de nous-mêmes dans la sérénité de la solitude ne sont rien en comparaison du laisser-aller, du laisser-venir et laisser-parler qui se vit avec l'autre...
audition for the leading character
interesting combination
the criminal
just the edge of his frame
she seems innocent at the beginning
looking at his notes
just fyi i throw out someone
loving and desirable
playing off of that very consciously
you just not be working
archival stuff is on Facebook
c'est l'heure du gouter
de la glace au chocolat
working on your transcripts/ paper edits
that's probably not a smart thing to do
t'y va
Not this sense
that I don't know what the hell
a human girl is...
where’s the coast guard? 
just a spotlight gimme something
ca commence a 6h 
t'es cool
quickly
i smells like **** did you ****?
you are the love de ma vie
he talks like that he is french
she is like ze morning sun in ze...morning 
beautiful
ze temps is in ze essence
muaaah
is our classroom
i can sense the connection
the connection? 
the connection entre nous
so madame alezraa give me this much
i heard boss
he is not doing anything
to give me a kiss 
it's in the 1st tab
it's still there
you don't have to click
i can't save it, just stay with me
there is no word on this ****
i need the inspiration
you are my muse
c'est pour ca qu'ils sont si petit
small
je vais m'occuper de
the whole point of life is to rearrange it in a coherent running story
people don't talk in stories
cut each section
some sort of a story
nice
tu veux que je mette
ouai ok attends
elle est l'autre feuille
permien tu veux que je colle recolle decolle coupe recoupe decoupe
how do you feel about solving…I mean it's an interesting way to solve it…
〜flowed〜 nicely
it was sort of an ingenious solution
she's in the airplane, she's in the sofa
try to transition between the two subjects….where does your friend come from?
what it was like landing in New York, looking out the window...
the process of arriving
not really fair to say that
in the future, if you're going to try to tell a story…in their minds….what's the story she's going to be telling me?…..coming home
fill in the blanks
don't go shoot blind, that's the biggest mistake
does that make sense?
great!
wubwubwububwubbbbbwubwb
gloving is......flowing lights in sync with the♩music ♫
flowing in gloving is broken…
liquid
finger rolls
tutting
figure eight ∞
wubwubwubBAMwubwubwoosh
wave-like movement…basic thing….wrist in a motion
tutting is like the angles…. not um 〜flowing〜….like tetris
you want to more, rather than following
solid ⸪lights, ⸫single⸭ solid lights⸬
pink to green to orange to yellow to blue
advanced strobe, solid line of color [...] streak of purple
electronic, dustup, elector, house, trance…
you’ll probably never see anyone gloving to like, classical music ♬♪
my name is Henri Geneste and I'm a glover WUBwubwubwubbbWUBWUBAHHHwubwubWUBWUBWUB[ONE][TWO]WUBwubwub[THREE­]
putain c’est magnifique
je me demande si il fait ca la nuit, quand il arrive pas a dormir...
window thing, kind of dumped
either the ours magna or the I equals me squared²
like language, like art, there are rules
go out and break them, just mucking around
fix it, wanna make one, totally your creative decision
how awkward
a bout de souflle
totally revolutionary
ainrr
radical, argue truer, but it's jarring, that's one way to do it!
aware that they're there but not ⑈jarring⑇
close to wide…..there's a cut there but the eye can follow it
um i have to go...
bye henri!!!
bye!
bye man.
see ya monday!
the hair!! im gonna shave it this weekend
I've been to raves
is he, like, a straight-edge?
there's drugs…do you guys ALL go to raves?
how the audio?
looked cool, the rain in the background
DUHDUHDUH that's hard to do
a huge amount, i'm sorry but gloving without the music?
if he does drugs OR NOT, how he's enjoying it OR NOT, if it interferes with his studies OR NOT..
just FYI we were all young yesterday
two bodies
he's here cause he's not going, right?
are you interested?
oh i would be very interested
yeah i see what u mean
you could come with me….i could always take the bus
it'd be cool
moi elle sera belle
here we go!
woah
their audio visuals are not very HOT
hours per day?
1…2 hours a day
sometimes 30mins
mostly people, sometimes like little animals
mostly people
i look at their art a lot
really interesting style
environments
if i want to…how I see them in my head
stuff like that
usually kinda random
i pretty much self taught
mostly from practice
everyone draws…but i got serious about it, like very…6th grade
i don't like the idea of competitions
and mum drawing is like, something that's kinda important
a passion
not sure i would want to go into it as an industry
more than just art
for now im not really sure
alright
so our usual questions
eyeline! thank you
on the couch….at the end it was really weird
who was…sitting where?
where were you?
she didn't really even really look, she was too far away, she just kind of….looked
much…she might not have ever looked
with the eyeline…it was pretty steady, no jerky-herkys, there were several edits
forgive it cause there's enough change
you could follow it, you could see that time had shifted
the content demanded it
WOAH okay now i'm really curious
we could see it, but then it was on the something else
process the image
now we're trying to look at the art, now we need more time
arc? did u feel like there was an ◜arc◝?
umm yeah…..
how many hours a day do u draw?
try to make sensible out of that
is that they use 2 3 four…
uh...cut..i did….cut
the cutting itself is like a commentary on her
since i was little. when i was little
when i was little
but my parents, my family don't
hands and arms
collages, magazines
photography
big part of photography
San Francisco Art institute
graphic animation, we only had like 3 weeks
still lives, models we would draw them
we had like an exposition
the person my mom works with's husband
wanna do an artistic career
alright so
not the greatest projector ever
too much head    space    
a lot of nothing
it makes it a lot more interesting
i think it was okay in the video cause
what she was saying and stuff like that
fair enough but I don't agree
lost in this big sea of wall
you're totally forgiven
no questions
power of a well-placed microphone
fantastic
the beans!
alright
you guys are the wrong audience cause you all know each other's stories
good feedback
movin' on, okay
very frustrating
and now.....surfing! woohoo!!!!
30 loooooong minutes, it's a nightmare!
7 minutes
3 minutes
it's a 10th
there's something fascinating about listening to people…you can do it yourself later
bolinas, del mar, sometimes surface, livermore, ocean beach
......riding the waves…....man….....it's the best feeling
you're walking on water you know? that feeling…….i love the ocean
i love the water, after you get that perfect wave you just feel accomplished
that feeling…..is awesome
surfing, it's all about having fun..
you surf once, and….you know?
if you're a surfer, you have a love for the ocean
my, my grandpa always loved the beach, we would go there at two in the morning and just….
my grandpa died and he asked to be cremated, he wanted his ashes to go in the ocean, so we took his ashes out to the ocean
I remember walking out to the ocean with my dad, we threw his ashes into the ༇wind༅ above the ocean, and we looked down….
we want to get the pain!! and the sorrow! because we're vultures you know? we just zoom in to get his expression
little bit weird
i do, i like it
it's black and white
it's just a surfer, it's not movin', it's there…it's not always the same
sort of echoey
…the ocean, and so i remember my dad taking the….
too much archival? too much? not long enough? both.
there was sort of a disconnect at times
her story, you have to cut
when she says "CAT" i want to see a CAT, when she says "FIRETRUCK" i want to see a FIRETRUCK!!! i was like, okay, i  just went to school…
and now this?
or you see a woman that looks like a cat
it's hard, it's complicated, it's not given
so they just kind of ended
you guys im trying to help them
oh okay
hey you know what no no no you know what don't take any of this personally just be like oh okay
he's got a funny manner of speech
any thing else?
arlo says no
"it would not go well"
what IS the really great ending?
amazing feeling one can have…..
you feel like you own the ocean, like it's heaven on earth
this technique it's called killing your babies…i love that
uh what
he says "uh no no no this is a 3 minute film"
sad but true
we all get attached to things, we don't want to cut them out
just play with it, if you decide
we can schloop
can we watch
not exactly…here's..uh okay a quick heads up
oh
for this summer
advanced lab, art advanced films, screen-writing, animation and more
field trip!! i need to contact your teachers
what day? a thursday
almost all day…nine to three
we would leave here
now im gonna erase this

The problem with being invisible
Is that none of you ever see me
You see Friend, Person, Sister, Classmate, Girl
Never Me.
The problem with being invisible
Is that you do not hear me
You hear words, sentences, chatter
Not the inbetween, not what I'm saying
The problem with being invisible
Is that you do not think of me
You do not lie awake
And wonder where
Or who I am.
I come only occasionally,
Casually,
In the slums of your minds

**unedited and full version redirected

You
Are untamed
Reckless blood and wit intertwined
A twisted, brazen
 mind.

Your mind
Is so clearly different
It leaps and soars, so acrobatic
And your thoughts appear to me so hazy and enigmatic
Your mind is simply not pragmatic
Yet your perception knows no bounds.
You have thoughts that come close to insanity
That sometimes flow in the form of profanity.
  
Your spirit
Is either very high or very low
Up and down, to and fro
There is no in between for you
Some say you are stupidly crazy
The dull ones say that, the ones too lazy
To see beyond the rugged surface.
The subdued and vapid ones
Will never understand the magnetism
Of your sweet, exquisite devilry.

On your face you often wear
A fierce and restless stare
A wan, discontented expression
As though you're always awaiting
Something bigger,
Something better.

You
Are fluid, swaying fire
And I will never tire
Of watching you burn
I can see you brain boil and churn
As it reels into into areas of
 madness and chaos.

Your psyche
Is an endless field of dark reverie,
Of fear and vagary.

I know your night terrors
Your savage dreams of death
Screams and bated breath
Unutterable visions
The grotesque world of horror thats spins itself out
And dribbles into your drawings
All those creatures, skeletons gnashing and clawing...

You
Are gentle and thoughtful
Yet you are terrified
Of this dark thing that sleeps within you.

Your eyes - they’re stunning
They’re tempestuous,
Wild, like some fierce animal peering out of a rusted cage
Oh, your eyes
They are something beautiful, but annihilating
Like Autumn crocus flowers, innocently poisonous
Lids splaying delicately like its violet leaves.

You are tall and strong
And uncontrollable,
And your smile
Is the biggest paradox I've ever encountered
Childlike
And fatal.

You are not
A creature of the commonplace
You are not a slave of the ordinary
You are not a mindless drudge of the mundane
You are free.
Or bewitched, what's the difference

Been dazed and confused for so long it's not true
There were kids
Sitting in the soft night's semicircle
Encased in a haze of smoke
The darkness enfolding them in a cloak
Of all mysterious things nocturnal
Making it all eternal
A superficial feeling of found truth
A white aura of blazing youth
Conquering the darkness with the fiery tips of lit joints
Puffing chimeras and golden illusions
Things left unsaid yet lead not to confusion
The substance and the glowing friends
Seems to fix everything and make ineffable amends
Lends them some heightened receptivity
With some dazzling sensitivity
To the dizzy promises of life
        *Wanted a woman, never bargained for you
There was blue bottles and red cups
Sloshing full of 21st century ambrosia
Every moment of the night
Is doused in glowing star-light
Different rooms, dark places
Different shadows, similar faces
        Lots of people talk and few of them know
There was music softly ebbing and weaving its way to us
      Soul of a woman was created below
Gleaming sequined pillows
Curtains ebbing in delicate billows
That no amount of reality could ever harden
In the black garden
Amidst the tangy, acrid scent
Boys and girls came and went
Among the soughs and the ***** and the gleaming stars
We are young; ***** replaces wine, blunts replace cigars
      You hurt and abuse tellin' all of your lies
An adagio of whispers travels with a florid vibration
Waves of words, swirls of conversation
High kids trying to touch
What has never been tangible
     Run around sweet baby, Lord how they hypnotize
These kids linger on towering stools and lush couches
Leaning back with careless slouches
Or wander back and forth
Breathing dreams like air
     Sweet little baby, I don't know where you've been
An elusive rhythm throbs in the humid atmosphere
Fragments of lost words hover on drunken lips
A stirring warmth flows
From bodies spilled together
Snuggled under a blanket of stars
      Gonna love you baby, here I come again
Hands take hold of hands
And fingers tightly interlace
Throbbing softly with fluctuating warmth
The room is electric, filled with tiny flowing currents
      Try to love you baby, but you push me away
In this wake of boozed up elations
All sorrows are aborted, all conscience is obliterated
Blitzed kisses are exchanged, transitory enchanted moments
Bemused nudges and tender embraces
Arms around shoulders, heads resting drowsily
All of this immediate and forever
        Don't know where you're goin', only know just where you've been
And the tipsy, blissfully mindless joy of youth
Gives them bleary yet satisfactory hints of the unreality of reality
        Sweet little baby, I want you again
The teens are flickering in and out of consciousness like befuddled fireflies
The sober ones roam the rooms, drifting haphazardly about
Simultaneously enchanted, bewildered, and repelled
By the seemingly inexhaustible variety of drunken fun,
The ****, adventurous mood of the night
        Been dazed and confused for so long, it's not true**
We are all so young
So young and dipped in the dust of folly
And our laughs contain a hint of melancholy
The magic of nights like these,
When the spell of mortality is broken,
Eludes us all,
Yet we cling to them
Like moths to a flame.
Nights like these dig deep in the stuff of the soul
But there is still much to be learned

"There are no diseases crueler
than the ones we self-inflict"
but I still find myself
thirsting for the bottle
and you still find the beast in your heart
begging to be smothered in smoke

They sneak out to smoke their cigs
between classes
just another insolence, another act of audacity
another fleck of rebellion
a way to express their contempt
a way to say ********
to the government and the educational system
and to the clockwork holding them back
from a death they secretly long for
Because i think at least a few of them know
that it’s still a suicide
even if it’s in slow motion
And every cigarette
is a calming coffin nail

Legally, they are too young
to drink or purchase
their ambrosia and tabacco treasures
Yes they are young, minors
but they’re already afraid of growing too old to die young
soon they'll get withered and wrinkling
and they won't be able to leave a beautiful corpse

Pulling off clear, crinkling cellophane, shiny silver foil
with nimble fingers and
sliding a single cigarette
out of the pack
and slipping it into their lips
It fits so effortlessly, so easy
they've been repeating the same motion for years now
sparking the lighter,
The small flame erupts
promising relief.
The sweet taste of nicotine trickling
down into the back of their throats.
They smile.

Behind stone gargoyle smiles
thunder eyes and rock fists
they hide their heavy hearts
with shrouds of smoke
like small-featured bride faces
behind heavy veils
Holding their precious gaspers
between 2 fingers,
elegantly, the way they saw
james bond and models in glossy magazines do it
There are no children here,
just the lost and the lonely,
the ones who wear such solid masks
They’re all looking for some form of redemption,
but they'll settle for attention
Faith, on the other hand,
is a language they don't speak

Their love for each other
is not sweet and childish
it's a collision of souls,
a necessary train wreck
a desperate tempest
to survive the deadly drone of school
it can't be done alone
regroup, collect, stick together,
collide

Their arguments and apologies
have the tragic tone of ancient rome
empires rising and falling

I hear them bicker
and argue and talk
with echoes of prayers in their voices
please see me, please hear me
please validate my existence

Debating
American Spirit, Malboro, Camel
the intricacies of the taste
they taught themselves to love

To me every joke sounds like a hymn
every nervous pair of hands
the brittle after-math
of broken promises
chaotic thoughts tumbling like dust in the wind

I know they are different
but they are human and young
and perhaps they are like me
Maybe they too
have fears
maybe they too awaken in the dead of night
sweating and confused

I can see them now, drifting in and out of focus
dragging their reluctant shadows
into school and out
Frail bodies running on caffeine and nicotine
pain, boredom, indifference and panic

You can tell they long for solace
in the way they hold their coffee
tenderly, fingers wrapped round
the comforting shape and smell
and kissing their cancer sticks
with faint hopes of necromancy
and rebirth with every puff

***
they take turns objectifying each other,
feigning tenderness when really
they are just new bodies
interlaced for an hour or two
There is no emotion here
they're just kids who've always loved playing
the ***** Doctor game

Mothers
use their name as a cautionary
tale and
they're the kids
our parents warned us about.

I know they've given up on perfection
so they want to be some kind of dazzling cataclysm
a bright, flaming disaster, a lovely wreck
they offer me a drag
but all I can think
is that rebellion isn’t a language
I know how to speak
All I can do is write this poem
which is both a eulogy
and an obituary



                                                     ­           I love them.
I love them because I know each of them is a work in progress,
because I know each is shattered in a sense
because they're just souls searching for a voice.
I love them because I'm starting to see
beyond the archetype-- a true expansiveness.
And I love them because the smell of cigarette smoke
reminds me of afternoons in France,
sitting on the curb of my dying grandfather's home
and watching the passer-by stroll through
the pavements.

I love them because everyone needs a place,
and they know that.

Their parties are an emergency exit.

They're a lighthouse for the lost.

There to language and I are leave they out can no a don't
of do diseases beautiful speak

Their focus
dragging is crueler corpse

Pulling love their write
than off for reluctant this the clear each shadows
into poem
which ones crinkling other
is school is we cellophane not and both self-inflict shiny sweet out
Frail a
but silver and bodies eulogy
and I foil
with childish
it's running an still nimble a on obituary

find fingers collision caffeine ­ myself
thirsting and
sliding of and I for a souls nicotine
pain love the single
a boredom them bottle
and cigarette
out necessary indifference
you of train and ­ still the wreck
a panic

You I find pack
and desperate can love the slipping tempest
to tell them beast it survive they because in into the long
I your their deadly for know heart
begging lips
It drone solace
in each to fits of the of be so school
it way them smothered effortlessly can't they is in so be hold a smoke

They easy
they've done their work sneak been alone
regroup coffee
tenderly in out repeating collect fingers progress to the stick wrapped
smoke same together round
the ­ their motion
collide

Their comforting because cigs
between for arguments shape I classes
just years and and know another now
sparking apologies
have smell
and each insolence the kissing is another lighter tragic
their shattered act
The tone cancer in of small of sticks
with a audacity
another flame ancient faint sense
fleck erupts
promising rome
empires hopes ­ of relief rising of because rebellion
The and necromancy
and they're way sweet falling

I rebirth just to taste hear with souls express of them every
searching their nicotine bicker
and puff
***
they for contempt
a trickling argue take a way
down and turns voice to into talk
with objectifying
say the echoes each ­ **** back of other I you
to of prayers
feigning love the their in tenderness them
government throats their when because and
They voices
please really
they I'm the smile see are starting educational

Behind me just to system
and stone please new see
to gargoyle hear bodies
interlaced ­ the smiles
thunder me
please for beyond clockwork eyes validate
an the holding and my hour archetype-- them rock existence

Debating
American or a back
from fists
they Spirit two
There true a hide Malboro is
expansiveness death their Camel
the no
they heavy intricacies emotion ­ secretly hearts
with of here
they're long shrouds the just I for
Because of taste
they kids love i smoke
like taught who've them think
small-featured themselves always because at bride to loved the least faces
behind love

To playing smell a heavy me
the of few veils
Holding every ***** cigarette of their joke Doctor smoke
them precious sounds game

Mothers
use ­ know
that gaspers
between like their reminds it’s 2 a name me still fingers hymn
every as of a
elegantly nervous a afternoons suicide the pair cautionary
tale in
even way of and
they're France if they hands
the the
it’s saw
james brittle kids
our ­ in bond after-math
of parents sitting slow and broken warned on motion
And models promises
chaotic us the every in thoughts about curb cigarette
is glossy tumbling

I of a magazines like know my calming do
dust they've dying coffin it
There in given grandfather's nail
I on ­ are children know perfection
so and too here they they watching young
to

just are want the drink the different
but to passer-by or lost they be stroll purchase
their and are some through
ambrosia the human kind ­ and lonely and of the tabacco
the young
and dazzling pavements treasures
Yes ones perhaps cataclysm

I they who they bright love are wear are flaming them young such like disaster because minors
but solid me
Maybe a everyone they’re masks
They’re they lovely needs already all too
have wreck
they a afraid looking fears
maybe offer place of for they me
and growing some too a they too form awaken drag
but know old of in all that to redemption the I

Their die
but dead can parties young
soon they'll of think
is are they'll settle night
sweating that an get for and rebellion
emergency withered attention
Faith confused

I isn’t exit

They're and on can a a wrinkling
and the see language
I lighthouse they other them know for won't hand now how the be
is drifting to lost
able a in speak
All

The lush life
is nothing but a vain and vapid vortex,
a flimsy, futile fairytale
a cocoon of careless confidence that I eventually found not to be the key of the golden cave but instead an empty carcass we carry without courage.
I'm stuck in this spinning spiral that ***** us in without a sound, this swaying so strong it makes us sweat
So to avoid the sting of sensitivity we seek the salvation of soothing sedatives...to escape the lasting lies of the lush life.

She's a queen
Regal and gorgeous
She's bright as whisky, serene as earl grey
She's got lips of fire
And a body
That cost 4 kings their kingdom.
She exudes an intoxicating perfume
Her lashes are fans upon her golden cheek
Her hair is a halo of the purest gold
She walks with the fluidity of unfurling silk,
Her voice is blue velvet
And jewels fall from her mouth as she talks

I'm
A bit homely
And lost like an unlabeled envelope
And frightened like a child in the dark
I'm a full sponge, and must sometimes weep a little
My crown is ill-fitting
My eyes are weird elfin lights
My heart is as some distant, famine-struck land
I'm a ruffled little bird
And listening to me speak is like watching an unrehearsed play

We are both soldiers
Waging the same vicious war
And unfortunately
This is a world
In which only the swift and strong prevail

Sugar and spice
And everything nice
A delicate blush, a secret crush
Rings, white wings and other fine things
Ribbons and laces, tender embraces
Elegant grace and a sweet pretty face
Cheeks of pink, colorful drinks
Holding hands and fluttering fans
Smiles sweet, small and petite
Soft, luscious hair and a whispered prayer
Ballroom dancing, timid glancing

Liqueur and ****
Jealousy, greed
In dark rooms, kneeling and wasted
Under the sheets, squealing, getting tasted
Smeared lipstick, hair mussed, no longer slick
Bleary red lips, curvy hips
Tattoos and lingerie see-through
Heavy petting, getting drunk and forgetting
Ripped tights, endless nights
Coke and hazy smoke
Expensive drugs and sweaty hugs
Twisted lies, glazed eyes,
Strong musky perfumes, dark rooms
Sketchy guys, spread thighs
Broken trust, humid lust
Mindless fornication, empty stimulation,
With bated respiration, nothing but degradation
*****-cherry shots and hazy thoughts
Dancing, grinding, lights all blinding
Backstabbing, hands jabbing
Dark magic, endings tragic
Secrets revealed, wounds opened or healed

I've said it before
I've said calm and zen
I've declared and I've swore
And I'll say it again
I am not afraid to die

When I think of death my head is burning
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this rotten lack of truth.

When I think of death my head is raving
And in a way I'm craving
To be done with all this agony
I've paid my dues
And I've got nothing left to lose
I'm not afraid to die

This seems hopeless and sad to you
You're wondering
"What does she live for, if she does not fear the universal fear?"
I will laugh at the odds, and laugh at everything, and laugh at the austere
And live my life so well that Death
Will falter, flicker, hesitate
And hover in reluctance
Before taking me away

There's a broken reverence we hold
For those who've lost
We fear to be bold
We sidestep their woe, keeping our arms wickedly crossed
We offer polite comfort,
A distant hug, and awkward pat
They're like a ticking bomb, we stay alert
Keep the conversation to a minimal chat

Every grain of sand
Is perfection in my hand
Every wave in constant motion
In that endless noble ocean
Knee-deep in frothy foam
I am here, I am home
The sea will never grow old
The sea will never wither and mold
I belong to this shore,
My every limb, my every pore
I whisper to the nautic air
And it carries my every prayer
In this beauty so majestic and vast
I am no longer me, that lonely outcast.
A salty smell,
A flawless shell,
It all puts me a misty trance
So I stretch out my arms and begin to dance
Pass me the gin
Lift up your chin
Forget the family, forget the adderall
No matter what I will never be small

.

Today while wandering through the prairies
I came across some fairies
An able-bodied man
With a run-down caravan
A dark-haired beauty
With golden hoops and eyes like the sea
At every shake of the tambourine she gave a little twirl
And they whispered, "Little girl
Let us teach you what we know
How to survive the most violent blow
How to ******
How to let loose
How to be as noble as a windmill
And humble as a hill
All this knowledge with you we'll share
This occasion is quite rare"
Well I couldn't tell if this was a dream
Or some sort of sneaky scheme...
But I consented, and the learning began

They instructed me faith, hope,
How to cope
With bullies and liars
They taught me desire,
True love and its fires
They preached me serenity
To relish being a child
Young, free and wild

I ignored their advice.
***** fairies.
They've got dirt beneath their nails
And grass in their grimy hair.

It's 3 o'clock
And so begins
My perilous descent into the underworld
I'm slipping into
The abyss and
Nothing
Can stop me
And nothing
Is trying to stop me

The witching hour stallions
Race through me, charging like a battalion
And trampling my heart
Tearing my every heed apart

The fury of a fiendish demon possesses me
My soul takes its flight from my body
My thoughts are shaky, my dreams are gaudy
I am convulsed and feverish with frigid melancholy
I know myself no longer.

Something malevolent is hanging above the bed
My heart is hollowed lead
A cargo ship for unwelcome stowaway thoughts
My brain is black and reeling
And tangled with a thousand knots
As my hands ***** the obscurity and reach for the ceiling

Day is so far away, I can't feel sunrise advance
I'm trapped in this horrid trance
My soul is reeling, wretched and lost
Forced to think the most unspeakable things
The panic and despair that each new night brings

I've had so many nightmares, but who's counting?
It's back again, I'm drowning
In a turbulent, sinister sea of terror
Fear is the message, I am the bearer
Like great black birds, the demons haunt my room
I'm choking on all these acrid, bitter fumes

My lids flutter like feathers of a pheasant
I can feel the pain so sharp and omnipresent
Like slaps given by a hand of black steel
**** it, Satan works with incredible zeal
Stinging, burning like a devilish eel I long to repulse
I can feel my wrists throb and my stomach pulse
With the beating of this hideous heart
I can feel my spirit depart
My nerves thrill like throbbing violins
Laden with angst, jealousy and sins

Deep into that darkness I am peering
Wondering things no mortal ever dared to wonder before
I wish I was disappearing
I am breathing an atmosphere of sorrow
And I know the remnants won't subside tomorrow

There is a murderous monster deep within me
That nothing can soothe
There is a hungry well
That nothing can fill

I open my battered notebook
I break my pen
And crumple the pages of inadequate words

I choke and listen to this light-forsaken chamber
And see a tocsin of silence, like a wicked stranger
Loneliness strikes me like a blow
Oh night agony, panic attacks, endless woe!
This pain so deep and unbearable,
These visions so raw and terrible

In these linen sheets I feel
Apprehension, slick, electric like an eel
The mortal coldness of the soul
As life takes its morbid toll
It takes in not only the body
But weaves between heart and soul a fabric so shoddy,
The somber cloth of misery

I don't want to grow old
To feel my memories fade and get cold
To feel my thoughts overridden with mold
To carry life on, which like a heavy chain
Drags behind with many links of pain
I want to end it all here, now
I can't and I won't
But I wonder how I'll survive from dusk to dawn

Day has opened its golden lids
To the light that night forbids
I've had my sip from the death cup
I wake up
With remnants of hell's dark lands
Sunken eyes and twisted hands
The witching hours are swept away like ashes
But it'll all come back in flashes
Tomorrow night, and every night
Horrors will always come back to haunt me
Between the shadow and the sheets
The endless phantasms, these endless defeats
There is no relief.

In the barge full of dust
A heron's quivering song
In our hearts full of trust
A need for something wrong

The gin burns
As youth returns
No one wants to go back to their ship
So keep going, sip after sip

In the darkness of such earths and the beauty of such skies
Excitement is tangible in every pair of eyes
But dreading, we fear midnight
When we'll have to say goodnight
So keep passing the gin
This is where we begin

Redirected

My dear, it rained last night
And I remember
The alleviated rise into
Lush sobs and lavish emotions
The way your dilatation relieves
Every worry and anxiety
But sometimes when we speak
A violent lie radiates
And last night you were naught
But an alienated virile sot
A view unholy I omit
I remember the tin roses on the tiles
Devastated, shattered.

Sometimes you hum
Your hands delicately miming secret memos
And I can see it in your eyes
Irises shining like teal devils
And the music carries you
White with adrenaline, pupils likes violists
Headwaiters lie, strumming tin violins
Their  alienated visions wilted with passion

I see the way she cleverly conceals
Lies as vows to you
A veil called "us" she puts on "me"
And I call for mutiny
But youth is vim, vim is now, and now is lies
Every hug from you is just a violet whim
In noisy rooms
My vision is misty
My aura dies little,

Oh if only you could realize your reign
You’re the master, the ringleader
But you’re lazy; you work without zeal, you’re idle and lazy
Eyes glazed, agile hands getting greedier

Have you ever seen
A dearer lion?
He roared, the lonesome rider
Alone, an alien.
Well sometimes you lie
And I dare to become
An oral denier
My radar detects one lie,
Then two...
You become red
Redder than a ****** lion's ear

Adieu, you say, with a gently undefined lilt
My tears speak more reality than your words

The Devil pulls my puppet strings
And makes me sway
Looming hell approaches and sings
Reeling me into the decay

A fiendish demon shrieks melancholy
Another one screams fear
I am young, and I cry folly
The creatures taunt and jeer

The brazen fire whispers
Songs scary and bleak
My skin burns and blisters
My hands are trembling weak

Please, close the carcass gates
Please, chase away the beasts
See all their flesh-laden plates
See their ****** morbid feasts

I see this place so dark and eerie
I hear the demons moan
Please hold me, I am weary
And can't brave this alone

After the screams
I was coming undone,
splitting at the seams.
I hauled all my watercolors
out of my brother's office.
I took the paintbrushes
and palettes of a thousand hues
lodged between his camo army vest
and his heavy shoes
and I sprawled out in the
spinach-green living room.
I painted
willow trees and silhouettes
and viridian snakes spilling from ***** lips.

At 2am I got up
headed to the deck
and watched the stars
Because sometimes I forget.
I let my nights
be slaughtered by sobs.

These nights, this view
It’s mine, you can’t have it.
Everyone needs a place
and this is mine,
this tiny nirvana,
2 o'clock constellations
in the dark purple bruise of night
are my home.

A pool of watercolors,
magenta, cyan, indigo, emerald and cerulean,
swells in my chest,
in the empty space between my lungs.
A drowning, a baptism.

Everywhere, in everything,
your unblinking ghost.
It refuses to dissolve.

I occasionally feel my smallness
to be a virtue
Yes I am invisible
and timid also, so quick to shut my eyes
I fade into the background.
my head,
settled into a thick fog
I do not speak words
which could be used against.
I do not open up
to those who could so easily harm me.

Don't try to to understand
the trickling through
my eyelids drooped.
When one has a secret life,
one's tears cannot be explained

But the problem is
that secrets worth having
tend to leak out
or implode

So I sometimes permit myself
to open at night,
I who vowed to never open again.
Speak to me at 3 o'clock
for I confess feebly in the light
but in darkness,
I am true

Discover me
before you find me in a coffin,
regretting all the questions
you never asked me
and all the things you should've said

Blanche
Perched high upon a gaudy throne
In her faded dream kingdom
Where everything is soft
And glimmers and glows
Where brutal reality is hidden
By soft colors, the colors of jasmine
And butterfly wings
Her singing
Weary and strained
Like a dying star
Turning the trick
She dons such deliberate disguises
White satin, a paper lantern
Oh Blanche
Purely corrupted
Lighting ****** candles
To hide the stains
And with wide-eyed laughter,
Uttering naivetés
Dropping virginal lies like pearls from a necklace
Clinging to hope
To unheard prayers, unseen supplications
Her restless eyes
Begging for mercy
And wandering aimlessly
Through rainy afternoons in New Orleans
Her lips whisper a battle cry
I don't want realism. I want magic
I tell what ought to be the truth
Truth is sin
Verity and naked bulbs be ******

I want to be fluid, I want to be smooth
With the ability to soothe
Be like the waters
With seashell daughters
Of streams and brooks and rain
Always tender, always humble, never vain
Yet still ruling with sovereign reign
Nothing should ever be able to stop me
Nothing can stop the ocean or the sea
Not even time
I want to be huge, I want to be sublime
Never hurt, never chagrined
I want to have no fear of the wind
And even less of the heat or the cold
I want to shimmer with gold
When the sun sets
Away from mortal things like hate or regrets
I want to learn to sing like water
Without ever wearying, tiring,
Wheezing or expiring
I want to be the water
When it hums to the night
Chants to the stars bright
Stroking the sand
I want to be water never bland
I want to be the water that glorifies
Which runs, which plays, purifies
Which is sweet and pure, untainted, unattainable
I want to be the water mysterious and unexplainable
I want to be the water when it unfolds
When it holds
The seaweed with maiden hands
I want to be the water when it expands
Dances, sways, flows,
Diverted from the abyss

So many nights I stayed up late with him
smothered by smoke and darkness,
talking about freedom, listing all the reasons
I couldn't wait to leave this place
but it was never the small town I minded so much
as the ever present loneliness.

I remember my art teacher
pointing out that all my ****** artwork
held symbols of evasion
-an open window with views of mountains
shadows fleeing from a slit photograph
an elevator open to reveal an aquarium
Always things opening
to reveal something better

My thoughts are not chiseled in stone
my eyes are not cold marble,
they do not remain still enough
to know permanence—
They only speak escapism

My dreams and fears
are not geometric and carefully calculated.
They are horribly bohemian, fluttering and
echoing the uncertainty
of a bird's   f l  i  g
                                   h    
                                         t

I am always planning evacuation routes,
building gypsy caravans in the basements of my mind
I will always be hightailing
through the hedges and fences
put up by friends and family
I have been working on my vanishing act
for the past 16 years and
none of you will see it coming.

And I do not like to show people
the ways I have been broken, so I hide the evidence
In that sense I am a perfect houdini
-a successful illusionist, a stunt performer
I've learned that many questions like handcuffs can be avoided and evaded
as I have become able to regurgitate small white lies like keys at will

There is one escape
that I have never granted myself
the release of a blade
the empty prevarication of pain
I never cut, never slit, never shed my blood
I guess I've always been smart enough to know
that a razor doesn't have the power
to stop the tempest in my head

I will forever remain a fugitive
and when you look at me and my eyes are glazed
it means I had snuck away to my world
I've packed up and run off
and you cannot follow me
nor bring me back
no matter how hard you try

Death is the sturdy turtle
Slow, relentless
Victorious

Life is the flighty hare
Quick, lazy
Defeated

I remember the last time we talked
My voice trembled like a violin string
As always my mouth was numb and locked
And the phrases I couldn't utter seemed to boil and sting
I watched distraught words float by on the breeze
As I desperately tried explaining to you,
With embarrassment and unease
All we could and should be, all I dreamed and knew
Tried weaving a future from a tangled past.
I saw you through curtains of heavy fog
Your eyes bleary and glassed
I stuttered and muttered and wept and I couldn't
And I knew that I wouldn't
Give words to the ineffable mess in my brain.
I looked up, the mist breathed slowly
You walked away like a slow and silent midnight train
The sun was shining through the clouds, golden and holy
As the white haze of things unsaid weighed upon the rolling hills

I miss you
and memory of you, it’s not as clear
as it used to be
I try to trace your voice in ink,
knowing it's impossible,
I'm still trying to see your phantom blue eyes,
but to no avail
I try to hear you but all I hear is static
coming across the ocean

Your last words to me were jumbled
uttered through a jaw left paralyzed by your stroke
and after your death
I was left to sift through the ruins of what you told me (I'll never know)
Trying in vain to decipher the hieroglyphics
of the way your hand squeezed mine
for the last time

I didn't deem myself strong enough to attend the funeral
I knew I was too shaky
to deal with estranged relatives and a cortege of black
and a symphony of muffled familial sadness
The pews full of faces chiseled from marble,
listening as a stranger gave your eulogy
I was too weak to handle witnessing
the birth of a stately widow
in the midst of an ugly cemetery
          (I always imagine how bitterly it would cost her,
       to prostrate herself in submission at your grave
     kneeling like the defeated queen
    of a fallen empire)
I did not want to see the way that what one fears,
the end
can come so abruptly
and I was selfish
I chose not to say goodbye
because I could not stand the thought of
seeing you in a quiet boneyard
amongst cold, silent stones

But maybe I should've gone
because now I know that
when you mourn
you mourn
alone

There was hardly time to be sorry
with homework and house-keeping responsibilities
now that my mother was gone
I had to do my crying
while cooking dinner or doing math exercices
Any sorrow had to be wedged
between stress and duty
all permission to grieve
was impeded, absorbed by the impassive process

It truly is terrible, the knowledge that
it could all end, it is all capable
of devastation
Every plant can wither
everything can ******* or fade
All, all
can be lost
every memory can fade through time
or will to remember

My family never mourned together,
the family in America I mean
and I believe that this is how
in each of us began
a deep isolation, though we never spoke of this,
of the absence of touch

The worst of death,
the lose of a beloved
is the separation.
I am alive. You are not.
It is terrible to survive
as unmerited consciousness

The memories I have of you
are far too few
and I will forever be left wishing
I had done more, said more, taken more pictures
The remembrance is insatiate

Sometimes I like to read the books you left behind,
and remember your passion for Latin,
the way the citations
unfurled as you gave them new meanings.
But on other days,
I keep them far and untouched
-they seem too much like tombstones
that have surrendered their worth
to your absence

Your death is yet another
ghost posed on my lips and in my thoughts:
Never
In this world, this circular reality
things can happen conclusively, decisively,
and the mind cannot reverse them:
*Never

I am the leaves
on the streets you walk on
The unexpected shadows
I'm the scrap of paper
upon which you absentmindedly scribble dark things
I'm the bird in the trees
you always hear but never see
I'm a daisy, or a clover
in a garden of huge sunflowers and roses and oak trees
Or the bottles you keep hidden in your room
I am the sunbeam you feel
but you can't turn around to look at because the room is too small
I'm the hole in the curtain
I'm the notebook
you forgot about long ago
I'm the fish in the murky pond
-you can see the ripples and waves but you can't see me
I am bits and pieces
Here and there, now and then
I'm a mustering hum,
picking up, growing
Gathering momentum

Love love love
The riddle of the Sphinx
Love poems,
eternal hieroglyphs
and lovers,
desperate archeologists
attempting to decipher
the ruins.

Dead languages
that haven't been spoken
for thousands of years,
the naive attempt to
resuscitate an extinct civilization,
sit pretty on the tongue
because things are sweeter
when they’re lost.

So we were sitting around with some college dude
And talking about what we wanted to do later
And the pretty little girls wanted to be singers or artists
And the little blond boy wanted to be a movie director up in the golden city
They had star-studded dreams of art and passion
And this one guy says he wants to be in finance
And be a stock broker
And play with money
Because he likes money.
So I looked over and saw him there
Leaning far back in his chair with a purple penguin T-Shirt
And gloriously doodled notebooks
And I thought this kid
This kid
Is not afraid of losing his soul.
Perhaps he lost it years ago
And figures he's got nothing to lose.

I thought this kid
Is going places.
Perhaps not very moral places, perhaps not very clean places
But big places.

If I was a really good poet I would probably say many deep things about this kid so willing to be a Wall Street slave
But I'm also
Just a kid

My entire life
No matter where I go, who I'm with, what I'm doing, how drunk I am
I have always felt on the outside - out of the picture
From childhood's hour
I have not been like others are
I've always been
Out of the conversation, at a distance
As though I am alone in existence
Everywhere I go, there is an impenetrable barrier
At home I'm a foreigner in my own land
I've always felt like a different breed
Slowing down when others pick up speed
As if I was the only one picking up the sounds or words that others don't hear
Deaf to the words that they do hear
I do not hear what others hear, I do not see what others see
Doing, saying, thinking things that others don't
When I try to explain what my world is like,
I baffle and stutter and can't find the words
And they look at me
From the other side of the barricade
With condescending, puzzled smiles
I've never really been a part of a group, a piece of a whole
Even in my own house, with my own friends, I've always been an intruder
Everything I say, everything I do seems offbeat
I feel like everyone is dancing some sort of elaborate choreography
And I haven't learned the steps
Or they're all playing a game
And no one taught me the rules, or let me roll the dice
I've always felt out of it,
As if I was alone on the opposite side of an enormous, invisible window
Pressing my hands against the glass, tracing worlds in the fog
A stranger looking in
I've always felt it
Struggling to break the sturdy facade
In crowded parties, sleepovers,
Lunch breaks, with my family, with best friends

**other half of poem redirected

I want to be held
The way a dying hand
Holds a crucifix

I want someone to look into my eyes
The way a captain
Looks at a compass

My pen is so hungry
Starving, aching
For something, anything
Substance, truth, paper
It wants to nibble existence
My ink longs to gnaw away
At the heart of life
My scribbles thirst
For perfection

I’m trying to grip the hands of the nearest shadows
I’m trying to see the lines of the cage that imprisons me
The dim landscapes that surround me
I’m trying to hear the thing in my chest
Burning day and night
I’m trying to smell the smoke
That envelopes me
But it's all out of reach
Undefinable, unplaceable
What are my roots, what are my boundaries
My goals, my aims, my dreams
I cannot quite grasp
Who I am and what I'm in

We
Have become drunken beasts
This
Is all I ever dreamed about
And the kids
Out the
Window.
I've always felt so
- out the window.
I'm a stranger
Looking in.
Rip Curl Pro Search
I'm a stranger
Looking into the store's window.
What is this store selling ?
****. *****. Love?
If he was here I think
You could draw
A circle around us
That could go on
Forever
And forever
This square -
It's transient
So ******* transient
I can feel it burning.
This is all I ever dreamed of
Fingers intertwined
And laughing
I'm easy easy easy
You're
Insane.
You're ******* wild
& scared. It's OK.
So am I.
Your eyes - They're beautiful.
Like a wild animal peering
Out of a burning forest
You're
Insane.
I want to know
How this all connects
How does all of this
Connect
To my identity.
I am drunk.
I am this memory
And that memory
And memories of you
& me
And it's all raining
Down on the bums & drunkards
On the outcasts & wanderers.
On the pigeon
Who lay dead
In the pummeling rain.
It's all ******* out the window.
There is no truth, no nothing.
I'd rather stay
In the circle with you

Rio
Is wondering
About the point of life
& I want to say
******* it kid
Dont you see.
There's no point in life.
All of this
The kisses & promises and jobs,
They lead to
Nothing.
It all
Leads to nothing.
And all those people
Seeking the "meaning of life".
They are empty & vacuous
And to seek
The meaning of life
Is like looking for sparrows
In a murky swamp.
No matter how much you look
No matter how much you shift,
You will find nothing
At all.
The Kids
Over there
Are sitting in the warm night's
Semicircle.
Encased by soft smoke
Making
It
All
Eternal.

I'm filled with aches and cavities,
concave heart
hollow lips.
I can't be your salvation
You can't be my elixir.
There is no cure to be found.
We're too young to save each other,
weak hands
intertwined like
predicaments of bittersweet,
frail blue eyes
like cities of crystal
staring quietly, relentlessly.

This is a *******
emotional scavenger
with no way out,
and we both know
this thing will never
have a chance
to stand on it's own
t                              f
w                           ­ e
o                             e
                               t

The way I speak
In the car in the morning, or under trees
Is swathed in darkness
My words build walls and facades
And cunning passages, contrived corridors
Deceit, whispered ambitions
I'm dispensing my secrets
But dispensing too soon, or too late
Into weak hands
Or disbelief or indifference
Or until their refusal to look me in the eyes propagates a fear
That no amount of courage on my part could ever dissipate
I'm covered in locks
Inside and out
But no one has the keys
And I am not beautiful enough
For anyone to bother trying

They cut down the old oak tree,
The only place I ever truly felt free,
On top of hawk hill
Its branches were tender arms
Its noble leaves full of mysterious charms
That oak tree and I- we were made of the same stuff
I was flesh soft and thin, he was wood thick and rough
But our essence, our core- it was the same
We were both something that no one could tame
I laid in his arms no matter the weather
And sap and blood throbbed together

It seems like places to hide
Just aren't around anymore
Though there used to be so many
I can't seem to find any
But lord knows I've tried

They clean my room
Mop, dust rag and rough broom
And take down the pictures, the memories tacked on the walls
And hide my old dolls
Because I'm too old to enjoy dolls

It seems like places of solace,
Secret and flawless
Really can't be found
Be they above or underground

I'm big to fit in my old tunnel
My secret, arcane land
Where I used to be able to stand

It seems like finding places of retreat
Has become an impossible feat
Places to love, places to pray
Where are they?

My spot in the basement
Magical despite the smelly mold fumes
Has been filled with old strollers and ripped costumes

It seems like places special and hushed
Have been annihilated and crushed,
Have all but disappeared
Isn't that weird?

But perhaps they have become so rare, so incredibly rare
Because we lack the art of simply receiving
We lack the art of simply perceiving
What is so freely given to us
We search instead of discover
Investigate but don't notice
We sift, unearth, and probe
But we lack practice in the delicate art
Of simply stumbling upon

People over romanticize things like
Sylvia Plath's
suicide in the oven
or stars
or love.
Stars are just big
flaming messes
that burn and care
for nothing else.
and so is love.

Goodbye New York City
Goodbye carefree easy days.
The airplane chews the gray sky
The kids whisper, taptap on little computers
Or ipods and touch screens.
Nothing here is Love
Nothing here is glorious,
long and true
But there is peace
And there is no cursing, threatening or grievances
(they have been forgotten)
I am comfortable,
There is music
So all is well
Until we land on cold hard earth

The last time I see their eyes
The final exhale
Smoke and soft ignorance
Mingling through white teeth
The last dawn, the last noon, the ultimate sunset
All silent, as if awaiting..
And the last drop of water on untainted skin
The last sip, last bite, last puff
Last Cheshire smile
Disintegrating into darkness
Before the final twist of the knife