You'd be amazed
You'd be amazed what you can find written on a sign. Especially on church signs.
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« July 2004 | Main | September 2004 »
August 20, 2004
August 15, 2004
whisper-whale
whisper-whale
she was a sound bounced off a cloud
into my palm (shut tight)
my ears thin in your teeth and my teeth
present and separate and counting
i am ticking away moments like bird seed
meal to meal to meal
hand to foot to heart
cripple
i ache like the stars in the black, blue-white
i ache like the stars
like a pen scratching without ink
against a wall
i am the empty, echoing against
sky and smoke
you are the unswallowable night
this new view
she wore pink lipstick and blue eyes
and smiled like christmas lights
i can’t help but feel a victim to this new view
she was only a scratch and now a cancer
growing in me by rapid multiplication
i feel more than a little moved
a little depressed because a crush
never becomes an affair
i only become a little more a recluse
she wore a sleeve over my heart
and laughed like shattered crystal
as i shatter here just remembering
like stale bread
i am a little like stale bread
as crusty inside as i am outside
and laying still on this abandoned dish
on this thin glass plate awaiting butter
or maybe gravy
wondering how gravity allowed these
invisible things
to leave me brittle
and white
i’m wondering when my life will
come to a sputtering halt or if
this is just the moment where everything
slows down just before taking off
every day i forget 100 essential things
every night i dream a dozen
meaningless dreams
and sleep becomes less and less appealing
i tried to catch your scent on the breeze
lifting off the lake
i caught nothing
the breeze was too weak
off the evaporating pond and
barely brushed the cracking earth
i slept and dreamt of a thousand locked doors
and a hundred useless keys
and at least a dozen reasons
why it didn’t matter anyway
i just wanted to smell you on the breeze
and paint a picture of it
laying here tonight
i heard sirens
tonight
laying here
unsleeping in my
bed with this
emergency feeling
no need to stop at any lights
if you’re coming here
tonight. i’ll clear
the roads before you and light your path
with burning branches
and strong flowers and
shake here anxious on my back
stretching past my skin after you
with prayers written
on my lips, on my hands, on my knees
pulsing like a lightning rod as i wait
for you to arrive
in a fast car and flashing lights
just in time
to save my life
after a long night
it’s the sabbath
after a long night of
breeding regret and
strange dreams
i wake to invent
new promises to break
and resolutions too weak
to keep my back straight
but i feel a calm
knowing this morning
is not last night
and my face is not the same
rinsed off and holy i
could be
but dressed again and
perfumed i board
the N in the direction of water
and watch as a man,
sporting a gold chain
and a mustache, performs
chin-ups
and a woman with
arms packed full of bags
and baskets refuses to sit down
in the dog park a rottweiler
gnaws a femur
and occasionally i close
my eyes
i am much too
relaxed for a sinner
much to calm for a chronic
procrastinator, depressed
obsessor, obstructed creator,
empty handed procurer
if it weren’t for dog food commercials
i might not know what marrow
was, and yet i depend on
it. filling the space in my
bones, building up blood cells
i depend on a lot of
things i can’t see
i’ve built a life around it
but built another life besides
like a cancer, like a growing
black mole somewhere under
my clothes (a dependency on things)
and all of this blood and all of
these magnets pulling and pooling
draw these lethargic flies around me
tiny sentinels, vomiting
scavengers. yet still, in this place i grow closer
to understanding God.
I stole a gimmick, you steal my heart
our bodies
move in circles and
answer eachothereachothereachother
while we
go on unknowing
still trying
to ask for names
when
our lungs have
found a unison
our hearts are still
chasing
meanwhile. . .
our minds are still noticing the circles
and
not the fact
that our cells
are leaping
at eachothereachothereachother
still not too tired
still not too tired
to type this; write this; or send smoke signals
but too tired to remember this tomorrow
so, don’t remind me
just how cute and small I am, trying
to say these ordinary things in morethan-
ordinary ways
if you really must respond, please
let the words lay on your lips
I want only to know that moment
Just before the sentence lifts
And I hear air
August 07, 2004
I want Moore from life
What a week! I've really been riding a roller coaster this week my friends.
Up: Mandy Moore breaks up with Andy Roddick. She's single, I'm single. It's almost too perfect.
Down: Just when I begin to celebrate the demise of Creed (the Christian schlock band) they turn around and get a new singer and start calling themselves Alter Bridge. If they end up being so bad that I start missing the old Creed I think I will probably kill someone. Maybe 4 people.
Up: I can't remember. There was something really awesome that I was hot and bothered about but it escapes me. It continues to escape me. But it was way awesome, I swear. Down: I forgot something that I was giggles about.
Down: Rick James passed away. Sure, he was a misogynist, cocaine addict who sang songs about kinky prostitutes but, he was also a misogynist, cocaine addict who sang songs about kinky prostitutes.
You know, life is funny. This is what people tell me and I guess it must be true cause people don't just repeat benign common phrases for lack of better insight. My heart is broken when I find out that Lindsey Lohan is seeing that fellow from "That 70's Show." Then my heart is mended when I learn that my first true love (Mandy) is back on the market. Creed is going to keep on making music under a different name, but Rick James will not be bringing the funk this side of mortality any more. Devestating. How can I continue living in a world so horribly out of balance? Well, the answer is love. If I can hold on to the hope that Mandy will one day see me as more than just an aging stranger with no job and no direction, but as someone who loves her for what she appears to be then I know I can keep on going. Mandy, with only the hope of your love I can take whatever this topsy-turvy, over sour, undercooked, minor itching, flaky-crusty, sweet and sour, Morgan Stanley, ramen noodle, Fox on tuesday, home and garden, swelling burning, Oprah choking, mixed up, crazy world throw my way. Call me Mandy.
August 06, 2004
Will eat food for work
I'm a terrible blogger. All the clever things I have to say I say to people over MSN messenger. By the time I get around to thinking about what to write on here I'm spent. Not a clever thought left. So now you have me with no funny crotch stories. No depressing poetry. I just know that I have to put something on here or no one will ever read this blog again and someday I'm going to say something really profound or proufoundly funny or mildly awesome and no one will be here to see it. I just can't bear the thought. I figure if I give you guys enough fodder you'll start thinking I'm on verge of saying something totally awesome and you'll keep coming back cause, "I just know he's about to say something totally sweet, I can feel it." I probably won't ever say anything that cool but the thing is you never know.
As of late I've been quite occupied with finding employment. The problem with looking for a job is finding the motivation. I spend all day looking for jobs and sending out applications and at the end of it all I keep hoping none of them answer back. I need a job, but I'm pretty sure I don't want one. Not a single job listing really excites me and if I want to get a job with anyone I have got to pretend really hard that it's just what i've always wanted to do. I'll be honest, when I first read the words "peek-a-boo panties" I was intrigued but I don't really want to spend all day calling businesses and telling them why they need to sell them. Part of me thinks that marketing might be a cool profession and then I realize that I hate a lot of stuff and I don't want to pretend I don't for a living. I hate peek-a-boo panties. I don't really know what they are but I hate them. I hate the neck pillow/regular pillow transformer. I hate the magic hands bra. I hate guys who say, "I was just in the financial district and you know what? Everyone was in suits. We dress for success," and "I don't care what your professors have told you, there's no business until theres a sale." I don't like slicked hair. I don't like little man complexes. I don't like law school. I don't want a job, I just want to get paid. Someone help me figure out how to do this.
By the way, here is my famous crotch:
