10/3/2014

at high noon, and
i think, high tide
She looked up at the shy pisces sun, which is never brilliant,
tripped over a brick, traced her long shadow on the sidewalk
with her finger in the air
and i had to remind her I was standing right behind.
she'd say "right, that you are" I was tempted to
add that I wasn't quite sure about that.

I noticed our shadows were contorted, stretched
like papyrus,
I was remembering how she'd announce at times with no
order: "I am happy" or "I'm sad" while watching T.V.
or walking down the lane.
But now she didn't quite seem to say much.

And I was always asking "Amy you happy? Amy you sad?
Amy you OK? Amy you fine?" Amy you ok? Amy you ok? Amy you ok? Going well? Fine?
It was like that

we held hands in a modern art museum is how we met
"It's a good picture," she had noted of "My Grandparents, My Parents and Me".
I had looked sidelong to its neighbor, a picture of a trashcan
trying to desperately scream about some societal ill
lost in translation forever.

I had already given up when she had given me a 'goodday'
I didn't care about seeing her anymore
but it still hurt.

My name? Jane. Bryant Jane. Born a man
or at least Earth Planet tells me my parts belong to a boy, whatever that is.
In second grade kids teased me and I went by my middle name
as a form of protest against them.

Looking back, I was feeding them.
Or was i starving them?

I read once the name Jane is considered bad luck
in English royal life
I entertained this just as I did my taut masculinity
this 'girl' Amy found it cute. but

remember how i had ended up asking for her opinion on everything in the end?
because she would not say it on her own volition?

dont get weirded out
this is safe for work
you see im entertaining tomorrow
a thorough cleaning is in order
through and through
first things first
a proper dusting
right after the coveted sharpie box
shelf comes "first"
books records bric-a-brac and all
****
ive been meaning to listen to this album
signed and everything
lets put that on for some dusting music
table turns
check
the needles effective
i can hear the shallow resonance
hmm no audio
lets unplug all the cables
check the power supply
and the pre-amp
turn it all off then on again
****
let me take this apart real quick
****
i need some parts
i need to call stanton
OPERATOR! OPERATOR!
30 minutes later im told they dont have it
WHELP
back to dusting
stepping over stanton parts
I THOUGHT I LOST THIS MOVIE
i can play it in the background
whilst im cleaning
THE PROJECTORS BROKEN
let me take that apart real quick
hope i dont get the parts
of the two aberrations crossed
that mustnt happen
wink
and then the re-framing project
and then organizing my music collection
and then just one poem
color code my closet
rewrite my resume
clip my toenails
and my nose hair
four more poems
annnnnnnnnnd
mess

"oh hey welcome, drinks are over there
just dont step on my record player"

and heres where it gets crazy smart
i tear EVERYTHING off the walls
draw all over all the stuffs
with those ****** sharpies that started it all
turn the whole ******* place
into a performance art piece
i call it
"fix it: I DARE YOU!"

Today I got a message
from a friend in poetry
if you get a request to be my friend
i'll tell you it's not me
there's another person out there
who's playing at a game
he's gone and made a copy
of me with the same name

i thought on this a while
our Johnni's not alone
there's a version of him out there
Our Johnni has a clone
Of all the people out there
why did he chose to be
Johnni Stanton esquire
why did he not choose me?

Imagine now...two Johnni's
riding scooters down the street
Giving Johnni Stanton scowls
To everyone they meet
Johnni earned his reputation
Through all the things that he has done
And if you ask me my opinion
I think there's room for only one

So, I'll keep checking for that someone
Who will ask a friend like ne
And will report that cloned imposter
To the powers there that be
There only is one Johnni
There's no room for any more
He's our impassioned, mad curmudgeon
All the way through to his core.

Another world championship
comes into view
that is, if the pitching holds up
and they maybe get Coby from Detroit.
And maybe work Glybe Torres and
Andular and Clint Fegie into
the scheme of things and maybe
Requito Kyle Schwarbe from the Cabs
That's quite a few ifs but sure
they got the premier slugger in baseball
he sounds like even ore of an CBI
man than Judge
and will make them pitch to Judge more.
He sounds like a great public
relations figure and the endorsements
will motivate him too...
Maybe he'll be the designated hitter
as opposed to Schwarbe or else
he'll take up on outfield, right field slot,
then the Yankees could move Aaron
and trade Brett Gardner for a pitch
My Yankees are back in the business
of bringing Romans
to New York again.
The Kicks are back for me too
having hung out in NYC for a while
among other reasons

I'm writing this now as I don't think I can continue much longer.
All the things that made me happy growing up are becoming pinpoint memories, stabbing at the feeling my life has become meaningless.

I remember my sixth, or seventh birthday.
When all my six or seven year old friends came over to play at one of the only non-million dollar houses Kirkland Washington had left.
I had a Thomas the Engine Tanker cake and we took the Oreo wheels and threw them around and over trees.
My next door neighbor was my best friend and we would always have something fun to do.

I remember accidently stepping on my grandfather's new shoes and leaving a smudge on his new shoes.
So he thought it was fair to pick me up by foot and spank me while I dangle from his grip.
He's dead now, and I could care less as I was never allowed alone around him after that.

I remember the first time I decided school wasn't worth it.
I was given a choice to join honors in fifth grade but turned it down as i was told the extra homework would interfere with my precious video games.
I don't even remember what games I played back then.
Roller Coaster Tycoon and Age of Empires Two I suppose.

At that time I wasn't thinking about my future or what I should grow up and become.

I miss high school and I wish I could live it on repeat.
Back when I was wild, free and possibly ADHD, I still don't know if that is a real thing.
I remember band class, everyone would always expect me to harass the teacher or make an idiot of myself for a joke.
And I didn't care if I looked like an idiot.
I obviously didn't care if I was the idiot as my grades were always poor but never shackled me down in stress.
Only my parents did that.

I remember Giles Stanton, my Senior English teacher, who looked at me with mild boredom and said, "The real world will eat you alive."
That still haunts me to do this day as I always thought he was the coolest teacher there.
But it was just a joke, I shouldn't get butthurt.

At that time I wasn't thinking about my future or what I should grow up and become.

I remember going to community college and it all changed.
My careless, free spirited attitude was no longer praised or loved but rather chastised and questioned.
For I was at college and it was time to act like an adult.
But I still loved it, studying music theory and playing music.
Excited as I was about to start working on my first album.
The dreams of being a rockstar, or maybe just a folkstar were in my brain and I couldn't give them up.
All I cared about was music and video games.
All other general education classes couldn't hold my attention, even after the third time I took them I couldn't pass.

After two years and my first two attempts on my life I went to go see a therapist.
It was the usual for most people my age, some form of ADD and depression.
I was going to do it with a pen, push it deep into my throat and drag it across my neck.
A pen was all I could find.

At that time I wasn't thinking about my future, only that I wanted to make music and nothing else.

After sometime I went back to college and everything was different.
My brain was slightly comatose on Zoloft and some sort of ADHD med.
I could concentrate, but the harder I did, the more it came into being that I was no longer me anymore.
Some bag of bones carrying around a dying child inside.
I was tamed.
My only release was music, which I guess had gotten better now that my mind could focus even more.

I still never got my two year degree.
Only student loans.
With all those meds I still couldn't finish school.

I wasn't thinking about my future, only that I wanted to be a musician and thought I had a real chance.

And now I live with roommates in Seattle.
Breaking my back lifting boxes at UPS while trying to figure out my second job.
Probably only to need a third job.
All I do while I work is day dream about when I was younger and still had a chance to attack life and own it.
Now I merely walk through it with an open wound that I'm scrambling to sew shut.

I'm thinking about my future now, and I honestly can't say that I'll have one for much longer.

Live blog: Romney and Stanton vie for Iowa win.
Dead heat in the dead of winter
What do the Iowa results really mean?
That Romney's less of a robot than he seems?

Oh, by the way: replacing a bulb, can save you 50 dollars or more!
But it'll cost you ten times as much, at your hardware store.
Starbuck's hikes prices despite the lull,
People stupidly betting on Powerball,
Selma Hayek's trending, y'all!
(We don't know why).

But what's all that compared to shootings?
Soldiers flying and not being sniffed,
Suspects nabbed in Utah killings,
And GOP runners had another tiff.

Personally, I'm more fascinated,
In the Aussie hybrid sharks!
This might mean global warming's overrated,
Or that animals are way smart.

Mideast peace-talks stalled, I read.
Have I not read this before?
Oh, yeah, back in 1972.
When psychos killed athletic Jews,
Who might win
And Olympic village was off view,
While the Israelis dragged people in.

That year, Nixon was re-elected
And we thought we'd never see worse,
Yet now the nation is infected
With a yellow-haired, inhuman curse.
Blog goes to sleep...

Begun long ago and finished in 2018

I'm haunted by a ghost
who won't text back
I need it the most
but it only gives black
this ghost from a heart attack
leads me down a disheartened track
of perilous cracks
so I can't relax.

Your Danny Phantom
threw our new tandem
off like Drew Stanton
giving me a true tantrum
tramping to the netherworld
to find a bed of pearls
instead of twirls
in dead end whirls.

I stare at people talking
in my mind I'm throwing ****
sounds like the gun cocking
right before the trigger flick
killing me quick
in a ghost's grip
instilling gross and sick
voices telling me to quit.

I want to go to the astral world
to be in your presence
I want to be your astro girl
then extinguish your essence
to get my revenge
after getting incensed
from the haunting intense
of a ghost with malicious intent.

Your apparition isn't an aberration
plenty have seen the line of demarcation
between relationship adjacent
and my next replacement
so I hide in my basement
people wonder where my face went
a ghost set it to its blank placement
to cover up the rank grave scent.

The spirits of the undead
notice that I'm unfed
repeating that I'm *****
until I've done bled
they cackle with triumph
after I've run
for someone
to see the sun.

So go chill on your ghost ship
with your ghost clique
whose locust lips
give you focused hips
just stop haunting me
I view recovery dauntingly
because for a while I've got to see
every person as wild ghosts mocking me.

What's the scariest book you ever read? ... Some Stephen King book like Salem's Lot or The Shining? For me it's Kate Millett's ****** Politics ... Oh, man ... Now THAT will scare you to death if you're female.

I discovered a man, overheard at my church, who actually believes his *** is a sign of power and of superiority. WHY am I so startled? Some childish trust not yet scrubbed off?" Or worse yet, some belief, not yet strangled, in a better world? See, stupid me, I thought this bill had been paid, by sufferance, by real people like Elizabeth Stanton, Carrie Catt and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. ... by entire generations who ran through those tangled woods emerging cut and bruised ... if at all.

What is it like for HIM? I see him eyeing us, his little inferiors who bleed with the moon, with secret, catlike distaste ... regarding female opinions as slightly impure ... then, with calm, Godlike grace, granting females the forms of servant to assume.

Can I, can we, be forced to accept this inheritance? I don't know ... All I know is that this prejudice, so strangely without substance, strikes me like a dueler's lucky ******, robbing me of attendant rights and wit ... springing a tender trap of doubt in the future and abandoning me to stammering.

rereading All the King’s Men
American demagogue reappears again

Jack Burden burdened
The Boss’s troubled twin

A student of history
Anne Stanton’s boyfriend

The Great Twitch and Great Sleep
But he cannot pretend

To truly explain
The tragedy he’s seein’

Political contempt
Brings a bad ****** endin’

Those ignorant white hicks
Turn against you in sin

No good from the bad
Just the bullet assassin

But Jack not beat down
Gets the girl in the end

A little hope from Dante
last lines in rhyme

Into the future
Responsible in time

For calm tonight and quiet
Chinese broccoli

I miss my beloved sons
1, 2, and 3

All my adult life
I fight anxiety

Anne Stanton swimming
Beauty in the sea

        gently, gently