People I only knew in passing-
Lovers on a hotel bed, lost in the feeling of controlled chaos, ******* until the sun signals surrender, the stars burning holes in their memories that cannot be pieced together again,
Brothers in different hospital rooms, two halves of one whole engine praying for a spark, to be able to stand on ones own, IV drips trickling down dreams of a brighter morning to collapsed veins and broken synapses,
Sisters in opposing time zones, living out play acted scripts of the same drama in various adaptations, the first act the divine comedy, the second act the hellish tragedy, we all tend to fall somewhere in the middle with these types of things
I don't know where I fit into any of this
I once thought I could piece together the story from the fragments I am left with,
But they're nothing more than points in a vague interest, clean surfaces for drugs, nothing to write home about
Have you gotten thinner? Has your hair gotten longer? Have you slept recently? Have you left your house today? How long has it been? How many cigarettes? How many inches of rain? How many sunsets? How many phases of the moon? The last time you spoke to a ghost what did he say? Did he mention me?
I am living seance, forcing questions into spaces they have no business,
My art is the hand that murdered Absalom, the hand that cuts the lines of pills, the hand that slits the throat of the hydrogen future
The cool, slick ******* sitting wide eyed and high in supernatural pretense, in eternal condemnation of the enemy,
Don't you know if you're broke and suicidal you can just blame it on the alignment of the planets?
It could all be so easy

Oh sweet communist,
Sweet communist daughter,
How they loved you, and how we let you die
A ration of bread, a ration of water,
A Tokarev SVT-40 rifle tucked like a poem between your shoulder blades, telescopic sights trained to deliver angels to Earth from the safety of Heaven,
A parchment neatly folded and tucked into your pocket, 309 tally marks for dogs who didn't deserve their names,
Sevastopol sleeping uneasy, singing all through the night in reverence to the Fathers that sent you here to draw their blood on Motherland soil,
Sing to us, sweet communist daughter,
We must be made to understand,
We must be made to hear,
Send us to sleep, so that we might learn who our enemies are
Send us to sleep, so that we might hear the music breaking through the clouds
Send us to sleep, so that we might dream of something beautiful at last

Sweet dreams, milk, just like honey, ashes, lipstick, ever growing haze of marijuana smoke, violins swell, hallelujah chorus, gospel singers in a session band, guitars with distortion pedals, flower petals left as reminders on passenger seats, getting comfortable on hardwood floors, kissing through the night into the sunrise, clothes arranged on floors like exhibits in museums, pages of grandmothers bibles, hearts double time kick drums beating blood back to cold limbs, trauma sewn into denim like warning signs, cars left running, grass stains on backs, hands clasped tight around a moment, dogs howling, pale skin bruised golden by teeth, blood fresh on hands and tongues, I love yous spoken in triplets, words that never rhyme, reflections on themes, reflections on nights spent in awe, beauty as viewed through fogged glasses, present and future tense love, sweet dreams, milk, just like honey

There will come a time when you must go to the river
The only road that can take you there is the fastest lane you can find
Do not be surprised if the music drowns out your thoughts
Accept it
Because when you go to the river you must empty yourself of everything else

When you get to the river you can pray if you want to
Or meditate
Or contemplate universal truths
Or scream at the music that blares from the open doors of Kentucky clubs
All that matters is where you are
When you get to the river pile the rocks by the bank so no one can deny you of this experience
Hold the rocks in your hand and feel each and every crevice
The texture of the stone is a memorial for all who did not make it back from the waters
Remember that every river is one
All rivers are holy
The water hitting the shore is a hymn of death and life and all earthly eternity so listen closely and carefully
Then sing your hymns to the geese and the ghosts and the monsters in the river
Understand why you made this pilgrimage

Remember that eventually you must leave the river
Remember where their car is parked
Remember who you are
On the way home don't take the highway
The highway is only so you can get to the river as fast as possible
Home can wait
Remember the day before
Remember how Allen Ginsberg sent you his answer in the form towers of water that everyone but you could see and know in your heart there is no answer more fitting than that
You will eventually get back to your own car
You will drive to your house basking in violet light
Sing every word you remember from your childhood
Take the long way into town
Get as lost as you will allow yourself and never too lost to find your way back
Do not worry about that river
The river will be there when you are ready to return

We don't drive nowhere without the radio on,
We are too naive to know better,
We are too crass to care,
We have been graves waiting for bodies to fill them, we have been half inscribed tombstones itching for an expiration date, but those days are in the rear view mirror, still just barely visible over the sticker that reads "What Fresh Hell", but we are lucky enough to have forgotten the way back, we have bled out every drop of retreat and we are going to drive all **** night regardless of whether or not we actually get anywhere, we are urgent, we are emergencies that cannot stop at red lights, we are a 911 call away, we are the angry heart of the river illuminated in burning flags and cigarettes and grand halos stretching the distance between bridges, we are Born to Run turned up loud enough to drown out alarm clocks, we are the ****** cataclysm that explodes into a new dawn, we are taking this one hour at a time, we are living like this until it's all ashes floating downstream, hit it again, one more time, in the dead of night, call me an ambulance, I'm not slowing down for anything

Almost a week has past
Since it was announced you will die
A day like that was always destined to come
But I am still not ready
Gordon Downie I want to write your eulogy now
And maybe you will see it
And understand how you've changed the life
Of this child of America

Gordon Downie you have made me scared
And if any sort of courage is going to come
Let it come now
I can't think of a worse time than this
Why must all my heroes leave me here?
But I understand that before a person becomes a saint they must perform miracles after their death

The three words I would use to describe you, you already know
Gordie you are a man
A machine
And a poem
The first song I remember learning how to sing, you beckoned me in from the wicked prairie winds  
And now I just hope that when I hear the news of the final words I smile
And it will be fine
But Gordie
I have avoided all the trends and clichés a young man of 20 can
I have sat in parking lots and coffee shops and witnessed beautiful things continuing as long as this world will let them

But it is you who has traveled to the hundredth meridian
The man who can get behind anything
The man who stood neck deep in the lake and yelled "you are not the ocean" and refused to swim
I learned that I must be ready to live my life because we get no dress rehearsals
I learned to be honest with who I am because no one's interested in the things I didn't do

Gordon Downie you are the machine that powered my childhood so this poem is for you
And when you die Heaven will truly be a better place
And one day I will meet you there
But until then
I will go to Bobcaygeon
And watch those constellations
Reveal themselves
One star
At a time

I woke up one morning

Actually I've woken up every morning including this one.

Next

Sometimes at night I sleep (that's also a joke)

When I look at you
You're beautiful.
Its when I look away that you're a ****** up mess.

Sometimes when I'm sad, I name all of my greatest accomplishments. I dont mean to brag or anything but I was born so hard. They even gave me a certificate for it.

I love getting drunk and leaving myself letters, I found one the other day and it said "help me. I want to die so bad. I drink because maybe one day my heart will pump exclusively alcohol and my brain will shrivel and die, taking all these ****** up thoughts with them" what a prankster.

No but seriously, have you ever thought a guy was cute. Not in like a "I would totally **** David Beckham"  sort of way but like, nice face bro. No ****, amiright?

Shout out to all my friends. You guys actually find me amusing sometimes. That's impressive. I'm an alcoholic because I listen to my own jokes

I like telling people a joke and then when they laugh I say something funnier to follow up like "making other people laugh is the only reason I have Kurt cobained myself".

I mean come on. What is pain without humor. Sometimes it's nice to take a break. Being so deep can really hurt you, but you don't have to worry about that because I'm small.

Thank you.

It's early summer.

The green are full of the brightest greens and they're all very alive.

Alive. What a strange word