You are grownups. You go to jobs and don't blow out birthday candles. You smoke cigs and talk about
"fine ales." you give to your favorite charity. I hate you.

I feel it all i feel it all.

Guys have a thing called B.O. Girls have it too: it's called PERFUME!

This is an alert! I am a cheap imitation. It's like eating "chocolate gelatin" when you could be eating "jello pudding"

I am in my bed thinking about beauty and life. And i think that they aren't related. (unless you're willing to stretch a little...)

I am Gravel. She is Pretty. He is your Boyfriend. I am Gravel

I saw a girl
sitting on a bench.

She was so beautiful that it made my heart hurt. I wanted to touch her face with my hands.

to feel every crevice, to feel all the ridges of her face.

I looked down to where i was standing and i looked at the gravel.

and i felt ashamed.

Not for wanting to touch her face. No, that was normal. Anyone would want to caress such a beautiful face.

No, I felt the red hot cheek-burning sensation of shame
because i was ugly.

I am a fall kid.

Autumn, I mean.

My friend Lynn, shes a fall kid too,
and we talk about how
winter is coming
and how
the seasons are about to change.

and we talk about past lovers too,
(past summer lovers)
bordello green and
periwinkle purple.
Fireworks in the night
are to us and our lovers
as color is to sound;
unrelated nouns.

we talk about the future
(and) in little increments, inching our
way to the top of the world.

"when you are famous" I say, "I'll have known a
great artist just before the discovery" and she
laughs and giggles and forgets about it.

I guess i should note that my friend Lynn,
she is a great artist.

she is the kind of artist that paints, draws,
and sketches her visions onto any medium around.

She is a typical starving artist.

she wears red and black bracelets around her wrist
and she has a nose-ring. the cute little pin-tip kind, not the
horny bull one.

she has just enough to eat, but not enough people to love her.

she does not wear her heart on her sleeve,
rather,
she wears it
in tattoo form,
on her back
and,

It
arches
when she stretches.

defiled, defeated, denounced she is.
but worthless, she is not.

Just like her dreams
and fears
and anxieties,

all of them have their own weight on her shoulders,
they all have their own place, their own gravity and oppression.

One night together in a field, she said
"I'm tired of being sorry"

"You don't have to be sorry here," i said, "under the stars
we're weightless.

I realized then,
when
she started crying
and i awkwardly
embraced her,
that we were totally different.

For her, the stars are just a reminder of how fragile
the world is,
and
how at any moment,
the stars and
comets
could
come
crashing down on her fragile 'artist' frame.







That's when I stopped loving her,

and became her friend.

F(R)iction

we were walking along the avenue parkway
when you said "I think I'm pregnant."
"I'm a good pretender," i said, "and an actor too."
And you're baby bump fell out of you
and we cried as it fell along the curbside.

Our parents and friends held a wake for the dead
the one in your stomach, in your uterine wall.
we wore long socks and black dress clothes
we stood in silence and watched our toes grow,
and everyone else, they all grieved for us.

I remember how you said you "cant do this"
and how your silences were taking up the room of your words.
If your little baby boy had fallen out a little bit earlier,
you would be fine with this absence of life,
but when he fell out of you, he hit the curb and died.

But you didn't even cry.

This is me. Brad thought it was a reflection of society but it's strictly about how much i suck.

note to self: You are weak. You are annoying to others around you. You are inappropriate, unsubstantiated, Unable, Infertile. You lack drive and motivation and you bring others around you down. You are wicked, hurtful, domineering in the worst way. You are undecided, uninformed, unintended. You are careless and selfish. You seek to serve yourself over others. You are hypocritical, judgmental, facetious, extravagantly foolish. You lack planning ability, concentrating ability and the ability to learn new abilities easily. You smell like death, and you look like it too. You are not the smartest crayon in the box, nor the lightest bulb in the pack. You are uncorroborated, unwilling, unhappy, and misgiving. You start things and you stop them. You don't finish what you have started. You look at people and judge. You think you are smarter then the rest, more emotional than the rest, more generous then the rest. You are misguided, misaligned, malicious, militant-when-need-be. You are less then modest, less then half a man, you are the embodiment of failure, the epitome of loneliness. You are not the cream of the crop, rather you are the dirty lily pads on the top of the lake. You are a small fish, small game, and big trouble. You can't make up your mind. You are fickle, unforgiving, indian giving. You speak with too much words. You are too complicated, too slow, too hyper, too rebellious. You cannot be saved, but you can be sweet-talked. You don't stand enough ground. You stand too much of the wrong ground. Your shirt is inside out, it's all wrinkled, it's faded, it's ripped. Your shoes are worn, your thighs are warm, your neck is fat. You can't be abandoned, left alone for a second. You can't tie your own shoes. You can't play the right games. You are too right wing. Too liberal. Too mad, too mediocre, too fat, too cranky. You don't have enough compassion, community, high school spirit.

wonderings of a stupid idiot face

Imagine 2 scenarios:

Scenario One: a stupid person; an idiot for all intensive purposes, says to himself "I'm just an idiot!", in a certain self loathing way.

one of his friends come up to him and says "oh Joe, you're not an idiot" and he sits there while the idiot is crying, and he just says "you're not an idiot, Joe"

Scenario Two: an intelligent person that just feels like an idiot at the time, says to himself "I'm just an idiot" in the same kind of self loathing way.

One of his friends come up to him and says "Bob, you're not an idiot!"
and bob thinks to himself. "he's just saying that"

and then his friend goes on. "bob you're seriously not an idiot. remember that time we did..."

really you can fill in anything about how bob was the smart one in the situation and his skills helped them. or his friend was in a jam and bob helped him out of it.

His friend keeps on going, "bob, listen, if you're an idiot, then that makes me a de-evolved caveman." and his friend just keeps on going until bob realizes he is not an idiot, he is just a regular guy that feels like an idiot at the time.

the difference between these 2 scenarios is first of all, Joe is an idiot, while bob is not. they both feel like they are, but only one of them is.
the second difference is that because bob is not an idiot, he has a friend there to say so. there is evidence supporting the friends findings and all is well.


I just have one question, if I say, "oh I'm just an idiot" and nobody says anything,

Doesn't that make me really an idiot.

I would say it probably does... But how would i know. I'm just an idiot.

In the midst of all this...

In the midst of all this world,
there is a red blood mist.
serving no purpose but to distract and ignore the problem at hand.

In the midst of all this fighting,
i see a child.
hes got a uniform on and a gun in his hand, but hes still crying.

his tears fall and they hit the ground.
they are swept up, thrown in a trash compacter and used several more times until they become so brittle and so small that eventually they don't trickle from his harshly shaven face.

As i stand in line at the grocery store i see a family.
the youngest participants have cake and other various foods on their faces.
while the oldest seems to only sport a frown.

It is in this family that i see the division.
the lines that are drawn up between good and bad.
young and old. strongest and weakest.

they stare so long and so firm into the small bones of my spine.
these lines. whether they be battle lines, strike lines, food lines, shelter lines, or any other kind of "divide and conquer" type system. they do divide and they do conquer.

I see the child with his uniform and the mom with her kids
at the store. I see the rich man with no heart,
and i see the poor man with no money.

I can't see everything, but i can see enough to know there is a division going on. a separation of souls. a line being drawn in the sand.





Watch me step right over it.

Form Asymmetry

It was the fall of man.

or maybe just the fall of me?

well anyways, i know it was autumn. (or wait, was it winter?)

i know that i loved her.
so truant so tied (so true and so tried)

we sat on the lake with the Lilly pads dancing green and happy.
we watched that big gold curve go down in the sky like a thousand bees missing their burns.

we were both poets.

thinkers if you may...

(at least i think?)

i remember squeezing her so fast and secure.
but we were not joined at the belt.

rather... we were joined at the swinging sensations of our sides.
like old new york jazz.
swinging our way into the cool night, we were.






and then i awoke to see the towering pines so gently whispering to me.
whispering cold winter and hot tea.

A
man
alone
in a cabin.
Essentially,
Form Asymmetry.

Memories: #795-837

yesterday, me and my mom were driving______795
and we saw a cool rug
that someone had thrown out.

"Its pretty dirty" she said, as we
loaded it into the car,
and drove away.

When we got home, we
unraveled the rug,
and looked inside.

We figured out that the reason
they had thrown it out,
was because someone had thrown up on it.

at that moment,
somebody's trash was also
our trash too.

"we'll bring it back" she said,
"in the middle of the night"
and i stared at her.

"we're returning trash" i said,
and she said, "yea, but it's okay"
and i stared even longer at her.

"go and do it now" my mom said,
as she looked at me and my sister,
and we took the car into the night.

we drove to the wrong spot
because I remembered it was a Y in the road,
and we drove to 3 Y's before we got there.

she drove past it at first,
and we had to reverse,
and the light turned on.

naturally, she couldn't see behind her
as well as she could if the light didn't blind her,
and so we backed into some garbage cans.

I hopped out of the car and
with the rug in my hand,
i dropped it on the boulevard.

I didn't see, but there was a heap
of metal and things,
and it crashed down. loudly.

"Get in! Get in!" my sister yelled,
and as i got in, i yelled,
"Go! Go!" and we sped away.______837

I want to just walk off into the night and never come back.

the pier would swallow me up
in a southern california oceanside
or new york or
some other port city.

i want to write poetry
in the night
when Nothing is dead
and Everything is alive.

The figurines on my shelf
they come to life and
oscillate
around each other

like some silent silhouettes
they bound across the room
small and invisible

like the breathe of the walls
my chest rises and falls and their laughter makes them
tumble and topple against each other

they form triangles and shapes
and the shadow puppets on their bodies
come to life.

And when the earth sleeps,
the Nothings come to life.