That's what writing does to you. It eats
your free time, and your soul it swallows
it whole, so that you don't get hurt
by flesh it breaks your bones with inspiration.
And, the feeling while I'm writing is this ecstasy
that controls my senses. I was meant for this,
ink tainted fingers, blank pages and this loneliness.
Up into the sky, the girl with velvet pants, a hip and tender blue, she loves me too, she loves me too.
Feet upon the dash, sun rays on our face, our ashtray filling fast as I push harder on the gas, I'd drive a thousand miles to see her, I'd drive anywhere to be near to her, I want to be there when she smiles, even for a little while. I will be there. I will be there.
Mountain tops are wrapped in white, the highway pass stops being plowed at night, we've seen the sun it set, we've seen the sun it rise, and set again today, we're heading far away, because I will be there, I will be there.
A notebook filled with scribbled ink and our ashtray's full with inspiration but out of energy. There's a song stuck in my head, but only the two lines that she's said, I sing them over and over, and over and over, she wrote, "I will be there. I will be there"
I'm nearly running out of stamps, but I've got many more postcards I want to send, we haven't passed a town with enough people to have a mailbox, and America is getting thin, skinny kids with their line tattoos, girls dress down and never look as good as you. I'd rather go nowhere with you than everywhere with somebody who won't ever be there. You can be here, but you can be so fucking damn unclear.
We just ate two hits a piece, of 350 micrograms of lsd, we've still got more than half a pound of some Gorilla Glue Hybrid Blueberry strand, I'd like falafel wrap and a red stripe too, we have enough to buy food for you.
I've never been sad or lonely since we started to go on our road journey. But I'm in love with your elbows, I'm having an affair with your elbows. Sometimes they don't return my calls, sometimes they don't even call at all, I will be there if you cry, and I'll be there to say goodnight. I will be here to make you come, so long as you'll be here to make me come. So let's drive around and have some fun, while we drive around in the sun. Will or won't, yes or no, to and fro, we've counted twice to just be sure, we have 10 toes and 10 fingers. I've counted yours, you've counted mine, i need to see your elbows one more time. I need to find your funny bone so it can crack me up, and we can race through states in this cardboard box. Can we put plastic wrap instead of using tempered glass, on this rocket ship Jimi's Blues, it's the only thing I want to do. To see backward into the fading sun, we can eat dinner or have Twix instead. I won't forget if you still put in. Just let me lick the numbers off your mouth. Just let me lick the numbers off your mouth. We haven't gone anywhere, so we can just stay here, I will just stay here. But please can you go to the store, I need new skateboard bearings and a kid-size box of Apple Jacks.
my roommate is
an extended sigh
she wakes up every morning and
makes French-press coffee,
which is foreign in my household
she has a soft heart,
liked a bruised peach
and when I smoke weed in the evenings
she talks about art house films
over sautéed cucumbers
and I pretend to listen
I read somewhere this morning
that you should replace all your
like, instead of
“sorry I am such a mess”
it should be
“thank you for loving me unconditionally
thank you for wanting to have my name coat your tongue
thank you for refurbishing my past like an antique dresser”
I haven’t once spoken these words
since being with you
I walked down College without headphones
I could hear my blood’s humming voice
I carried the same three treats I bought with you:
a s’mores bar
a Ruffles chip marshmellow square
at Crawford, I could hear you in the box
scratching like a rat
when I got home,
I lit a candle
and ravenously ate you on my bed
Your mind is a tunnel
that never ends
and I need to slip inside it
immerse myself for a while
for I may never know
what I might find there
but one thing I know for sure
one thing I already found out is..
about you being a writer
who has written on me
who has written a part of my life
you have done it..
vision is a ton of soil with billions of bacteria
labeled invasive species reduced to four criteria
written like mighty armies of ants on sticky notes
brought your tractor to cultivate electric nodes
an A is never given to those who never fit in
follow the rubric listen to instruction you'll get in
reduced to idealistic poetic unhygienic disease
unique is antique do away with feeling release
hear the sand fall of dreams your mouth reeks
habitat destructor a million of bacteria seeks
friendlier living spaces than your noise pollution
tongue over harvesting nature vision extinction
afraid of insects ruling the world overpopulating
in crisis save the bigger species generalizing
create a biodiversity hierarchy of entitled importance
vision is flora fauna bacteria fungi inheritance
Sondra goes to a bar, and at some point during the evening requests that a sonata be played, the bartender looking surprised says “I don’t have anything like that”, Sondra reaches into her coat pocket and hands the bartender a cd saying “track 4 please”, the bartender lets the current song finish and then plays the cd, it’s Haydn, and the people in the bar start to look shocked, a person goes up to her and says “you know there are places where they play this sort of thing, like restaurants”, Sondra replies “yes I know but I like coming to bars and listening to that music”, another person says “I like it too, it’s soothing somehow and different than what we always hear.”
© Matthew Goff
Well, its been two years since the night I sat up late dreaming of other worlds that seemed so far away.
Yet here they are, nearly before me.
Its crazy, looking between that moment and now. I was honest and hopeful, yet all those things I wished for seemed worlds away.
Well, worlds away just turned into 3 months.
I've finished my first real novel. I'm a third through my new one. The inevitability of me being a real author is sharp and bright and awe-inspiring. I've written things that make people think and feel and hopefully have the ability to make a difference.
I'm running across the country with that man I love. Its happening. I am in love. I feel forever in love. I no longer sit and question the maybes; I feel he is for me, as long as he is who he is and breathes on this earth and walks beside me. And I soon get to wake up to him every morning for as long as we're together. Its something else, I tell you.
Wonderland has gotten kinder. I have become stronger, and things are figuring themselves out. I'm figuring myself out. Its new and terrible and great and exciting. The world of Wonderland is before me, and I am no longer afraid.
I wanted these so many things, and I'm fingertips away from them. They're mine. Its jaw-dropping. Its nearly a surprise.
Except it isn't. It logically feels that way, but in my heart it only feels right. Now, I have my writing. I have my novels. I have my love. I have my wonderland. I have my future.
All the things I ever wanted are mine, and its more than I ever thought I would get. My dreaming isn't just dreaming anymore. Everything I dreamed of is real, and you know what?
Its better than I dreamed. Far better.