Thursday, February 19, 2009

Just like Neil Young did...


The body of a teenage mistake falls backwards in slow motion onto his bed. The eyes are closed, squeezed shut. He can still see it all. Above him the ceiling spins. A giant smile grins, and a giant eye blinks shut. Inside of him the universe explodes into a million little pieces that make up a million little people. Dawn does not come easy, rays cut through his bedroom glass like wide cruel daggers. His mother Mary yells. His mother is a whore.

Sometimes there's things in the world that are just so beautiful or hateful that it overwhelms me, it makes me feel that my heart might explode. I take this as proof that I am still alive and the world is both in need of artists and villains to chase.

Sunday, September 28, 2008

Do The AA Stutter!

Down on your knees, a slave to authority, don’t pull it down, let them wait a little bit. Join the vocal majority, join the realm of insanity, with more mental cuts, more mental silence, then all your fucked up ignorance cults. Boy know what I could do for you? Girl know how I could make you? Worked in a small town, for a effeminate man....with a family. Angry Americans, scare me, like snakes in a bed, like badgers instead. Broken poison butterflies. Broken monochrome families. You’re a what, a what? A real man. A real manly man. A skinny girl. A short skirt girl. You’re what? Hollow heart, you’ve been with too many sickest sons, too many burning like gasoline. I’m no mad man, but I’m all for insanity, not your insanity. Insanity. What makes you eat their shit. Everyday. You eat their shit. What makes you eat their shit, and love it?

Sunday, September 21, 2008

I'm No Poet

I'm No Poet.

I'm no good with words or structure. I'm no good with rhymes or rules. I'm no poet.

I'm no poet. Instead these are observations and confessions, assertions and lamentations.

Monday, September 15, 2008


All of our beauty is ugliness, and all our ugliness is beauty. The secret of the world is that in each of us is both, to be alive is to hold everything inside ourselves at once. To understand and be. A fleshy conduit of suffering and ecstasy, violence and love, hideousness and lust; to be at peace with the war all around us.

Saturday, September 6, 2008


Cities are washing out, and you’re chewing on teeth leadings, praying that we’re wrong. You don’t say anything because there’s power in words, but it feels like even your mind is screaming out loud, still clutching a brass idol to your chest, you swallow it all down because you’re to proud. And now a plague has reached the gates of your heartland, it’s borne in the blood, carried with love; you get scared and cut love, you shut it away, and let the rest bleed out in the sun. Of the old world, so you fight against change, you bathe in the stained glass light of a broken home, and wet the sand with our children’s lives.

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Elizabeth: Reprise

Every time I drink words run like a river from my limp lips. Maybe they're the tears that my eyes never shed, maybe they're the thoughts I thought were dead. I don't know anymore. Maybe you would, if you could. If I could say...I don't know maybe I would know. I love you he said, she said nothing, maybe I don't know. Or maybe she doesn't know and hope is worth waiting for, but under these orange street lights everything is "No". I hope I don't know, I hope she doesn't know. Every time I drink words like this run like a river from my limp lips, my finger tips tap clumsily away above my loose hips. I think that maybe they're the tears that my eyes never shed, the words left on my tongue...dead. I don't know maybe its all in my head, swimming from bank to bank, wandering across deserts, unprepared I'm wandering hurt and fake; drowning in front of you in your lake.

Saturday, August 16, 2008

On Falling

People try to figure out problems like me, to draw a diagram of something simple, something we can all understand, so you’ll all understand. So you can say I knew it all along. So you can say “this is your song”. That bird doesn’t sing though. Not songs for you. They asked me to take a pencil and write the last time I felt something, they gave me “safe” and I gave them nothing. I sat there staring; a revelation surrounded by one hundred others. I think some of us are always falling. Like at the start, we were pushed from the nest before life taught us to fly.

Dark Days Came

Spill and shatter into the street,

Like broken light bulbs,

Fallen from grace, fallen from right

From the light

Crushed like so many paper cups,

Water cooler talk for the caffeine hogs,

Emptied and pourn out, and left to be destroyed.

Falling tenderly into graves.

What women will weep,

When we’ve fallen into the streets,

Into the streets