April 30 07

write. (no words, but)

sick and wondering. a profit or a marginal loss?
worth the bills, the forfeit of countless stress-creased paycheques?
what is in my head on in the PA system?
what am I coming home to, what did I leave behind?

route 1. can't remember the artist or the verses only
the chorus and the stream of opposing colors through
the blinding veil of open space, of tired convalescence.
stuck in a permenant limbo, twenty hours neither here
nor there

rewind. check the menu check the manual,
stitch together the summary not the details check
the floor for missing pieces check
the cover of the box
did the picture come out right?
when we hold hands are we a compromise or

etymology escapes me steals my bravado with flourish
the disapproving click from the blasphemous tongue.
a hypocrite a villain nonetheless
a mother an aunt a sister still a bitch.
you think you're witty with your six character license plate
the dog snivelling on your lap while
you perfect your hair in the rear view mirror.
my guts ache for your cultural definition in one litre increments -
too fucking sedate to get up for a refill.
"buy in bulk" the mantra you take too far.

(why) bother to question what seems to make everyone content? you're only one person on one bench in one sleeping bag surviving on the infinitesimal acts of charity you receive from strangers (amid the candids for which you are secretly posing, the hands of tourists: a foreign economy). this infrastructure is not your home is not your collection of crossbeams and floorboards is not even a series of holes in the roof of your shack. the populus is homeless. is so lost in vagrancy beneath a perpetually starless sky - a filtered day, a tinted night.

we build our scrapers to the sky! see the farthest breathe the freshest never have we, the people, been capable of touching the atmosphere for only 50USD and 60 seconds in a claustrophobia-inducing shaft. hollow up hollow down. pick up your hammers and your cigarettes men, this time we'll beat those commie pigs those arabs those dirty traitor we'll build up! for miles! just to prove they can't tear us down we'll do it harder better faster stronger! they exclaim in Harlem accents in Brooklyn swag with Staten Island gestures. they'll build up as they tear out. empty space a fucking memorial built on untimely demise. an inside job. no question. (no comment.)

in your fucking heart there is a festering hot hernia of a tumor. it is your rewritten definition of democracy your policy of desertion the fucking irony of your goddamn "patriotism" - how you fucking do it, we don't even know. a coverup a physical impossiblity a thousand loosely joined loopholes. this is your opportunity for a voice and you squander it hopelessly instead. the car horn on which you, like your mother are so quick to fucking LAY - your only extension of free speech. head to the hills for stable ground.

April 29 07
and all of a sudden the limbo is better than solid ground.
jealousy drives. dont say you're sorry.
i dont even know what you did.
misery. don't want to sleep, want to hear you voice,
tell me this is just some random suspicion based on lack of sleep
and 20 hours on a bus and 7 days without hearing from you and
this is a stupid vice anyway a question i'll never ask
a comment you'll never make
and while it kills me you pick up and move
on into a new vice that isnt me that doesnt leave
that doesnt breathe or speak or sing
and i am a mass of water slowly losing volume slowly losing weight
dissolving in your absence, decaying in your wake,
overcrowded and simultaneously completely alone.
tell me that.
and don't forget to kiss the the speaker goodnight

April 23 07
i wonder if people will be skinnier or fatter in new york?

April 22 07
havent heard for a while.
you still coming?

April 13 07
121.5
so wrong

April 5 07
it was the first thing I noticed -
those eyes.
bright and blue and wide, eyelashes like
fine carvings around the frame of
a delicate watercolor painting -
those eyes. not just any eyes, those eyes,
your eyes, on that boy, on him.
your hair curling softly around the curves of his ears.
so many grades away from the phase where
you grew it long, you let it go,
for the fingers of your girlfriend's hands
to tease while you kiss. while you sigh.
those eyes.

April 4 07
two days left to get caught drunk in public!