| (no subject) |
[Feb. 18th, 2007|12:39 pm] |
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I am totally, 100% in love with my girlfriend, Jen. |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 3rd, 2004|11:15 am] |
"I didn't know anything anymore, I didn't care, and it didn't matter, and suddenly I felt really free."
- Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums |
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| The Fireplace of Dying Flames |
[Aug. 2nd, 2004|11:36 am] |
Broken words hide the ashes
A gaseous form
dissolved
A solution by composition
but not in meaning
Precipitating weaknesses
The bleakness in her soul
Effective game mames much
and blames
the sordid stench of scented song
along the path that never ends
The railroad ties extend
The feelings reeling in her face
A fall from grace
A place unknown
The own, the one
The loaded gunshot resonates
Is it too late? Escape the fate
and meld into the darkness
Whispers truthful harkened words
beyond the fireplace
of dying flames
in magic castle walls
of stone
It calls her name again
The railroad ties extend
Climactic captive counterparts
The heart lies broken
Poison dart embedded
headed
nowhere fast, enticing
mice that follow
Swallowed whole in mouths of
hallow words heard daily
Learned that failure’s not an option
Watch the madness from inside
It guides
the weary mind control disease
into a place
where only thieves and liars
dare descend
The railroad ties extend
The fertile garden
guarded by the hard deceptive
tactics
Back to front
It haunts and wants
and yearns for nothing else to be the same
It turns insane
The pain stomach churns sickness
thick and pulsing
revolting
It left its home in tears
The years wear thin
and once again we hear the trend
of devils
playing tricks on men
And then
And then again
The railroad ties extend
It’s hopeless and remote
the possibilities of going back and
starting over
She hovers for a moment
and considers what she’s done
and comes to the conclusion
that confusion and apocalypse
of sorts deprives the heart
of lifeblood by the quart
It writhes inside her head
Eats holes in her bed
Breaks down the fabric that she said
would save the tragic scenery
The greenery that hung on
meaner cliffs than
she would ever see
With glee
she tries to comprehend
The railroad ties extend
Pure release and ecstasy
that comes with seeing freedom
for the first time
walks a line of compromise
under the guise of obligation
Wasted on the futile
and apparent lack
of meaning from between the
gleaning of affliction
and the diction that she worked
It’s fiction at its worst
She cursed the sky
began to cry
and smiled while she did so
For she knew that in the end
The railroad ties extend
t^
06-27-04 12:42AM |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 13th, 2004|04:45 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Hall and Oates - Private Eyes | ] |
Ode to a Red Thing
You are so bright over there
on the thing you're on that isn't
bright at all because it's wood.
Are you wood?
Would you be wood? No you
are plastic.
Fantastic.
Full of napkins. The End.
6/27/04 @ 1:14AM
 |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 31st, 2004|11:15 am] |
| [ | music |
| | Ah Cama-Sotz - Zostrah (Iszoloscope Rmx) | ] |
Myr wds aore lsoit n a cpeolmx dritoisotn bteewn weaht I tgohuht ws arael ad nwaht I
lnraeed t ob teure. Ecah dy asplis a ltilte mroe, guadrllay cnhpipgw aay th ecformot
fo asbtale emivneornnt adn recalpnig i twtih na ufmianilar, uclanltonorlbe,
ibclomrhepnnsiee ngmharite. I santd slneit ni btoh aw eadn dbisleiefa ta wht's
bfoerem e.I
t dsone't mke assnee.
Nihnotg mkase snsee.
I stciko ut ym tnguoe t totsae th ae ir. M ysikn i seposexd, otmeuvstierlad byhte
ptaernts ad ncloors. I shdedur asth elghit dnecas aroscs m ynkead bdoy. Tehreis n
osnuod. Wereh hvaem y feidnrs gnoe?Y
m gdoI' ve gnoe mad.
Howd di tihs hppean? Tishi s nt ome. Weh?nI awyals toguhht Iwsai n ctoronl. NwoI
've lsot m ygirp no eeivyrhtng icdnulnig ym onwb enig, an dmy aitliby tos vrivue.
I se eolny moevntems an dsawodhs. Ip ary fro snoud sa Iclopsae itnoa tbinmelrg
blalo f faer. Ilokc suhtm y eeys.
An dtehn I sraecm.
Th esirlhl cphaocnay rlaseed frm oisidne em enaitmes ina nowaurtd sherpe elinvnepog
ethivernyg ini ts ptah.A dna s itd eos, itr esoantes lalt he tinghsI wa stoo binld
ot ese. Ojetcbs srtat t obemcoe celar agian. Tehy fdeebcak teihr ow nsnuods. Th
eshgit si daefneingly bfiauetul. I cnotinue. Frm oteh hzae, my frineds emrege. I
cna alsomt raech tehm. My scaemring bnrigs them clseor, unitl fianlly eahc of tehm
seesm e, and hmus thier onw tnue t o remnid me thye're theer.
Thrgouh aural choas Ihvae defeated maddness and reclaimed my abiilty tos ee. Though
bnlid in the eyes o fmnay, I see oh som uch, and tohse around m eunderstand. |
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| alphabetti spaghetti |
[Jul. 23rd, 2003|12:15 am] |
And between curtain dowls eyes flicker
glowing hot insect juice kettle left melting
near or pours quite right so tomorrow
until veils wake xenophobic yarrow zones.
A bee sees dee. 'E's eff'ing G's. H!
I, Jay (k?) 'ell 'em N-O pee!
Queues are "S".
Tea you VW.
Ex-Wise Zee?
Hate Haiku
You Dumb DMV
Where is my sticker you turd
It sure ain't here yo
Shoulda gone to bed Haiku #47
You dumb whatever
Where is your pillow you turd
It sure ain't here yo
Doesn't Fit the Meter Haiku v0.9
You dumb poem
Where's the syllables?
They sure don't seem to be around here any place.
Breakfast Lunch Dinner
Breakfast lunch
Where's my dinner?
.....
Poem #5
It's sure ain't here yo!
Broken Ticket
12 dollars???
12 dollars?!
Are you nuts or something?
8.75 I say!
12 dollars?!?!
Did you even ask??
Where's the machine?
12 dollars??
Surely you mean 8.75.
No, this seat's not taken.
12 dollars??!?
12 dollars??!!
12 dollars!!?
ð
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| 451 degrees of bacon |
[May. 8th, 2003|12:46 am] |
|
| THE BURDENS OF LIFE TWIST SLOWLY INFINITELY
ROASTING MY SOUL MY MIND MY BODY ON A LIFE
LONG TRIAL BY FIRE INTO DELICIOUS PERFECTION
| | ,.`;.`,`';.,`'`.;,`.`.`:'.`,`'`.';`,``.'`':,.``.`;,`'`.,`'`.,;`.`.`':.`,`'`.`,``.'';`, |
| |
!
!
!o |
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| Dashing through the dashing |
[Aug. 29th, 2002|10:53 pm] |
One time back in kindergarden i brought in this record for show-n-tell. It was a disney christmas record. The teacher put it on and we started listening to it. It was Jingle Bells. Then the records started to skip. The teacher went to fix it and I told her no, that's the way it's supposed to be.*
I have to wonder if this has anything to do with why I like the music I listen to?
* - This is a 100% true story. Every so often, to this day, this song will get stuck in my head. In my head, the record skips. |
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|
| sunrise |
[Aug. 9th, 2002|06:32 pm] |
This morning I woke up an hour and a half early to the sounds of sirens
whizzing past my window. At first I thought I was home, then I remembered
where I was. I stumbled through half darkness to the computer to check my
email, although that wasn't my true motivation. In fact what I sought was
the familiar painful glow of the monitor, which burned its way into my
eyes. This is something I do every morning. It gets my blood flowing,
and in a strange way, it relaxes me, levels my head, and gets me
ready to start the day. I opened my mail but didn't read it. I stared
motionless at the screen for about 30 seconds, then got up to take a
shower. I've heard all living things receive a natural boost of energy
by watching the sunrise. It seems for me that daily routine has been
replaced. Conditioned down to half a minute of perverse simulation.
By the time I got out of the shower the real Sun had risen. Although
the windows face west, the apartment was filled with its warm rays as
they bounced off the mirrored walls of the tower across the street. In a
whirlwind of precision, I dressed, poured myself a bowl of cereal, read
my mail, turned on the weather, ate my cereal, put on my shoes, washed
the bowl, grabbed my laptop, turned off the tv, grabed my keys, and
walked out the door. Blink twice and I'm in my car fighting with the morning
rush. Thank God. Really. That next half hour is the only time I have to myself
all day, and I cherish it as my daily moment of total freedom. |
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|
| truth |
[Jul. 31st, 2002|11:03 pm] |
That which I see: obscured reality.
That which I hear: the end is near.
That which I find: infesting my mind.
That which I do: distorting my view. |
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| stepping in it |
[Jul. 27th, 2002|02:43 am] |
large buildings on my shoe
my apartment full of bugs
the eggs get in my nose
and girls have shoes upon their feet
the cockroach says yo mama
and pocky every hour
eat eat you slimy italian
but please remember to lock the door |
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