| the rust as it came |
[23 Sep 2006|04:32am] |
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mood |
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life comes quick, wear raw your old skin
for a soul with skin thats thick,
slip and fall face first,
blinded by our youthful thirst
through dark skies black with curse,
the knots in the rope are battled with,
keep our ears clean of battle myth,
we'd rather get by with a fist raised,
redeyed with eyes glazed,
letting fly free those once caged,
it's clear these times scream for change,
we've all gotten older while stories unfold,
hand made our own path with memory mold,
disposed of her rarely for careful was he,
he knew the black cat it maimed and threw out to sea,
he standed tall with his rise and his fall,
why try to walk when you can't even crawl,
when the last straw,
breaks your back with your flaws,
and you've run out of those who answer your calls,
know it's the common rot of the grand ball,
where prancers will dance to 'they must have it all',
just a stepping stone in the key of a wrecking tone,
barely even grown, he holds life in his funny bone,
relax and kick your shoes off, you've finally made it home,
I used to know you back before you were grown.
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| It happened again. |
[07 May 2006|02:21am] |
Dear Alabama,
I can sit here and pretend to hate you, but while I sit and stay stoned in the backseat, half asleep and with a clear head, a smell will drift through the window and remind me of you. It's unavoidable, a constant struggle. The truth is I loved you and I wasn't enough. You've moved on and are happy. Thing's change and people are replaced and that's the way people are, and if you're happy, I will try to see that as a good thing. I love you still and on into forever but every day it hurts a little less and I get a little better and I walk a little taller and I'll eventually be ok. You know that too.
Love,
Clarence
P.S. There will never again be another four days where it first saw the light.
Have Mercy.
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[07 Apr 2006|01:52am] |
I had you like a farris wheel
the blood rushes to your head
when youre head over heels
at the top it stopped,
and we let ourselves spill
as fruit we would have burst,
cups that were overfilled,
fireflies and nine lives,
there's so many ways a clock can kill,
seconds and minutes,
the clockworks tenants,
drug one by one,
it buried every instant
and it always flies, ticks and tocks by
thats the fault line of life,
it can't help but lie,
it whispers "all you've got is time"
when all you've lost it time
The blur and whir
puts a strain on my eyes,
and I'll wait for my train to arrive,
blast off to the tip top a broken clock
twelve-o-clock on the dot,
I put it in my pocket
and knew not to lock it
The smell of funnel cakes
its a whirlwind we make,
while we ride the hands of time
a point that lives off the line,
I caught it, held it in my hand,
The first captive gale in all the land,
Those who noticed said I owed it to them,
They said hapiness meant
I was a traitor to them
that I should trade it in,
if I was ever their friend,
they're six feet under and
they want me to sink within
a true friend see's hapiness a mile away
glad you grabbed it, even if it won't stay
I'd given it all, and still they grabbed
this was mine and all that I had,
a last breathe in this restless mess,
a disney twist turned kafkaesqe.
Outraged they roared and shook their fist
They lived in a drought of sense,
Their faces swealled with the maggot broth of hell,
their skin leaked and reaked a sour smell,
They looked at my hands and what I held,
I tried to drink out of the blessed well,
An angle with wings, they clipped them, I fell
With sweaty palms growing pale
protecting the cradle that I made you
but I wasnt able to, they wanted a machine to replicate you,
their money signs blinking full throttle
manipulating real connection into a brothel,
impure and awful, you can buy it by the bottle
A whisper of wind and love with no end,
a few dollars and you could buy yourself in,
and they made it big, their faces on televison,
'its not selling out its buying in'
tom-ate-toes or tom-ot-toes, either way its rotten
and you've all been had,
blind with lust for what others have,
you'd buy a broken fence
if it inhanced your apperance,
take a breath for granted,
forget about the past since,
future and present hence
the reapers off with your head,
as you're tucked into bed
you do a body count of those that are dead
while reciting the things that you should have said
there's no immitation of lifes real sensations,
there's no time to invest in hesitation
so nows the time to change the station,
can you see through the ego inflation,
all hopped up on a man made creation
you brains been raped man,
there selling the tape man,
do the long divison,
there's a reason the telly destroys your vision,
they always know your possition,
broadcasting your information,
there's been many names for opression,
this year its terrorisim,
it's been called immigration
rodney king calls it racism
they always find a way to distract the attention
while they stick their grubby hands
into your pention
if you rely on a capsule you'll forget what is real,
even light isnt so bright
when glass holds it tight,
they've captured everything,
from daydreams to lightning,
they're defining the word love
with the biggest dimond ring
a tamed poem will never be exciting,
it'll never roar or sing,
it's the opposite of art
a milky way apart
and you'll always want more,
but it'll just curl up, whimper and snore,
you cant see the real world
on a guided expidition
you can take love and
bond it, tie it, box it up and fry it,
define it, trap it in amber, and buy it,
lock it up in confinement,
it'll build a cacoon, and hide till the full moon
it'll hum the same monotonous tune
the sound of parts on parts
falling a solar system short of art
it'll be transformed, it'll forget how to sing
what emerges in the end is air-conditioning.
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| Perfect. |
[13 Mar 2006|03:22pm] |
I don't know what you've been through
You might think that I don't care
But I do
And I've tried to understand
I've tried to understand your abuse
But you've got no excuse
And there's no use in lovin'
Anyone who hates themself
You keep coming back
So I hold you for a little while
But I always go when I can't take your sad smile
'Cause I can't stand it when you get so intense
And it's all a part of our bad inheritance
And there's no sense in lovin'
Anyone
Won't you come back for a while
You could see exactly what you've always meant to me
But you don't wanna know
You don't wanna know
And you don't know what I've been through
And if I think that you don't care
You probably do
And there's no sense in lovin'
Anyone who hates themself.
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| yawn |
[09 Feb 2006|12:20pm] |
This is a letter to the benediction that’s within you. This is a poem a stomach writes when it’s all full, and your intestines squeeze and shake a little bit of shit out. This is a requiem to fill up your funeral, wide and stretching; well at least the parts void of ego. This is a yawn and a sleepless night, a waste of time that thankfully was already being wasted on motionlessness.
I hope you’re flattered, for the wasted time I waste right now, for the phone calls wasted on you, for the hour I spent thinking of your bones bending and breaking and your nose spouting via yellow stone national park. They felt good and though a wasteful situation, your broken body crawling in my head filled me with a chuckle. You’re welcome. I must be polite, that’s how I was raised. You’re welcome for the entertainment, and the ego boost, and the power trip. How does it taste in your mouth? If Hitler were alive I’d ask him myself, his response must be close to what you could muster up, though I’m sure a little more cleaver and intelligent. Thank god you’re not as smart as you are a bastard. If so you might have actually made the world a lot worse than you’ve already accomplished.
Believe me when I say this, I don’t know any fear that you’ve fathered. I am beyond you. Let me boast a little, and say this: praise the lord and let him know that I am a thankful being, thankful for not being you. Thankful for the fact that you will never know the peaks of the mountains, and you will never make it through them with the speed I will. Your legs are too short, along with other extremities. Don’t flatter yourself; I wasn’t talking about your cock. I’m sure it must be large, at least somewhere, along with all of the other dolts who store their brains in their genitals.
I love things, things you couldn’t even fathom, things that make you a grain of sand in the stretch of beach. You’re not special; I’ve known you all my life without ever meeting you. I could predict your life for you. I could hand you things you wouldn’t have a clue how to work. Call me cocky. I have every reason to be, look at how you act. I know ten year olds with more heart and life in their eyes than you’d ever be able to understand.
You’re lucky, I wrote this about you. I laugh in knowing that you won’t make it this far, and if you do, you’ll barely get it. Call me a pussy, attack my masculinity. There are lot’s of words you could use, I know them all, I’ve heard them for years.
You’re so original. Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere? Weren’t you the kid who…
Oh wait, you’re all the same, the whole tough asshole bit has been here forever. Can you get a life? Do you have it in you to understand what’s trivial and what’s worth the effort? Please don’t spend all of your effort on your ego, you’ll be here for ever, you’ll become a legend, you’ll say thing’s like ‘I run this town; I’ve been around all of these years.” Is that your claim to fame? Please, my friend, may I have your autograph.
And you won’t even understand half of what I wrote, that’s why I sit here and smile, a big and fat smile, one you only accomplish when you think about yourself. I just know that I don’t have anymore time for this, count this as a blessing, you’re lucking you got this much of my time. Don’t let you’re nightmares keep you up all night.
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[05 Jan 2006|09:18pm] |
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yup,i love brittany miller.
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[23 Dec 2005|02:22am] |
I hope you all take the time to read this, but if not I can accept that, though I can't understand it.
I don't really get why everyone doesn't care that much about how everyone feels. I don't really understand why a lot of things that happened recently happened. I don't really feel like I wronged anyone specifically, or drastically. I had a lot of things I wanted to say to everyone, about what has happened, about why they happened, and about how I feel about these things. I don't know who dislikes me right now. I don't know who has a problem with me either. All I can say to sum up what I feel is: I don't really feel like anything I say will make much of a difference anymore. I don't feel like any of you even really care that much, and I can accept that. I don't think much
of what I ever have to say is taken seriously. I think I'm widely misunderstood and I don't have any more energy to pursue being understood. I care about what most of you feel, think, and have to say, in relation to not only me, but also your life. But I don't have the effort to try to make any of you understand that. All I know is that I'm giving up. I'm sorry for that, and while I'll always care, maybe way too much, I need to know when I'm fighting a losing battle and just cut my losses.
I'm sorry for everything; the thing's I've done and the things I couldn't fix, even when I wasn't at fault (God knows I've fucked up a lot). I'm sorry I can't fix every ones problems, I wish more than anything in the world that I could.
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| a laughing stock, a thing of shame |
[22 Dec 2005|05:36pm] |
There is a quote from my old journal, and it's a good place to start...
"my kin and brethren,
speak at my teeth, and ears
or prepare for a brotherly brawl"
Very few of you have even an ounce of my respect right now, and
I'm sure you have a lot to say and think, and a lot of reasons
and justifications for your actions, but all I know is that
I don't consider many of you friends anymore. I am disallowing comments
because I don't want this to be another internet problem, and
I'm making this public because I think making a 'friends' post
would be silly.
if any of you have the will to settle this, find a way to
get ahold of me in person, and leave your pride and ego at the
parking lots.
Here is another quote to end it...
"You have made your way from worm to man and much within you is still worm. Once you were apes, and even yet man is even more of an ape than any of the apes. "
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[01 Dec 2005|05:39pm] |
1.
I'll bet that the lack of humidity in the northern gale, crisp like the snap of a frog latching it's tongue around a low flying
beetle, (cutting time into one thousand fragments, choosing only one to masticate and savor.) had a hand in the
mixing of the home-made, sugary-sweet ice cream that is tonight. Each lick bringing a lush pink tint to your cheeks,
a sticky film clinging to the crease of your half-mast smile, half smiling in the beauty of the moment, half sagging in ode
to the death of these moments. Be sure you lick each and every joint and crevice of your fat and fleshy fingers clean.
The taste has a suspicious way of wrapping you around it's little pinky, bent, playing the leash that walks your actions down the block, a wide-eyed puppy.
A taste so engulfing, you look under the couch cushion, scavenge the cracks and holes, exploring every inch of everything
you can manage to get your hands on, in search of one last taste to fall asleep to.
You're eyes are wide and hardened, like a street addict. Hunger only grows to a specific level on it's own; your stomach
gnarls in self-pity. But set the plate in front of you, let the scent rise up and punch you in the gut. Yet you can't put your hand
around the fork, for reasons yet to be explained. Let your hunger ache, cry, piss, moan, grunt, and whimper. Let us stretch
a feeling into a mountain, that up to this point, has only been known as a hill.
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[25 Nov 2005|12:27am] |
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You’ve lived four years of your life in four days. Your eyes are heavy now, you’ve been waiting but somehow time has left no lipstick on your collar. She covers her traces and when you hear the door shut, you know she’s gone, but you know she’ll be back again. She always comes back and there isn’t anything you can do about it, you’ll let her in, because if you lock her out, hinges will fly and wood will splinter. There is no avoiding her, so watch her brush her teeth, while you smoke a cigarette on the patio. Kiss her once before you lift the covers to tuck her in, twice when blankets wrap there arms around her. Wake her up with kisses and savor every flesh kiss, because she’s all you have. But this isn’t a story about ones infatuation with time, more so we become so submerged in her essence that we don’t realize that we’re in love with the experiences she allows us to create. You only notice your cheeks plum with love in the morning, when you walk into the bathroom and smell the faint smell of perfume, a smell that moments secrete at death; a final reminder.
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[14 Nov 2005|09:13pm] |
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There were a hundred things that I had a hundred ways of getting, but that I only half-way wanted. When there was finally something that I wanted, something decent and full, like a ripe orange about to burst into rain, I could only make it half way there. Obstacles must flourish in strong willed dirt; they grow rabid and suffocate will before it has time to bud. Life ties my stomach up like that; that your princess will always be guarded by the grizzliest dragon in the kingdom. That there will be a thousand armed-guards, swords drawn, battled-ready smirks. Yet before you take on the journey to the top of the largest, entangled castle, there will be a hundred winches working their loins, letting you get a little taste (though bland and overdone) of the humble treasure you’ll never make it to claim.
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[02 May 2005|11:05pm] |
Fake, synthetic friends only. I have to take what I can get right?
Our ancestors were settlers. I guess I’m staying in the family business.
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