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FEBRUARY ARCHIVE
23 feb: 'Inter Alia' means 'among other things'
6:27 am
6:27 am
22 feb: gwen severe - youre severed from the all of me
post post script : i hate these second takes on getting it right but ill ignore the dishonor of it because this really needs to be said:
you said you cant hear or feel yourself with two peoples needs and emotions filling me up on either side. besides sounding like pornographic, Freudian slip, its just, simply, dishonest. i wont let you remember it that way.
i never saw him on the other side of my interactions with you. i was only with you. i thought we were outside of the storylines. i thought that was just being alive. i guess it always came down to extenuating circumstances with you.
i didnt make you responsible for satisfying my needs.
i never asked you to make a choice. i never asked for anything from you. i never was allowed to state my unanswered needs. there were some. aching that i never let myself give a voice. and you never graced with the compassion you believe youre so endowed with.
the only time i stated a need was after we shared something significantly expensive in terms of myself. the thirteenth changed the setting behind things. i thought it did. it would if all the players stuck to the science of rhyme and meter. if it was real. so, sorry for telling you that i felt a little terrible about what happened afterward. still, i never asked for anything from you.
and as far as my appearance on saturday night. i still didnt ask anything of you. i still didnt state a need.
that was for ME (as you would type it). did you really think i could sit at home after you, very inappropriately made the very arrogant request that i stay away from my church, my place of worship. you should have known that a man like me cannot be issued orders of territory even if you think the crown fits or that his temperance is worth taking advantage upon. taking the common respect for granted. you went too far with that one. thats not royalty. that was fascism. know the difference next time your playing court.
do not place any blame for that night on me. the one who took your arm and interrupted the twilight, the one who demanded you sacrifice your center cut of the attention because eyes were off him too long, because maybe yours might also fall on me for once instead of upon him - it is him that ruined the night.
he made direct ultimatums. he damned you to his rage. im not wrong for standing up for myself without even any words. i am still full of grace, little one, you cant tell me that i lost that, that i declared war. that i put up a fight. i did decide to make a stand for my pride. i cant let someone mark out the lines behind which i am not allowed to go. this is free country. i am welcome everywhere. i will not compromise any more for him. hes taken too much. i dont deserve to be told not to do as i please. you shouldnt have asked me. how dare you, actually.
he couldnt make good on his promise to hurt me, cowardly, he shared the credit of his mistake with you, pulling you from the stage, offensive not only to you but to those who you worked for - his priority isnt you, its his pride. i will not be the scapegoat for the clear evidence of his liability for the pain in the course of events on that evening.
and the emotions . . .
i never made you answer to my emotions.
maybe i should apologize for the INTENSITY of me. for loving someone who just doesnt deserve it. like an idiot, i still do. but its clear you were not meant for it. this was my human error. im sorry that my emotions made it hard for you to settle for less. how much you owe to a deficit.
all this, the permanence of condemning with these letters, could have been different, avoided, if you had just been true to what was real, true just to you (actually), and dealt with me personally. held yourself accountable for the current of things. called me up, say it isnt so, tell it to me straight, come on, live up, regardless of any decision, you know i wouldve accepted (supported even) what ever you were going to end up doing (except if it was at the expense of me), if only you had lived up to what has been, even if its over with.
just offer a little courtesy for someone who found it only too easy to express that, right from the beginning. and until the end. past that even. i wont hate you, hows that? ill wave good bye. i wont kick you in the butt.
theres really more to say but im not ever going to be saying it. if you cant figure it out then enjoy your front page headlines, mellowdrama, intensity free passtimes. otherwise, despite the neverever of this again, i will remember the rest of things as being very beautiful - to me.
over and out.
the end
8:32 am
post post script : i hate these second takes on getting it right but ill ignore the dishonor of it because this really needs to be said:
you said you cant hear or feel yourself with two peoples needs and emotions filling me up on either side. besides sounding like pornographic, Freudian slip, its just, simply, dishonest. i wont let you remember it that way.
i never saw him on the other side of my interactions with you. i was only with you. i thought we were outside of the storylines. i thought that was just being alive. i guess it always came down to extenuating circumstances with you.
i didnt make you responsible for satisfying my needs.
i never asked you to make a choice. i never asked for anything from you. i never was allowed to state my unanswered needs. there were some. aching that i never let myself give a voice. and you never graced with the compassion you believe youre so endowed with.
the only time i stated a need was after we shared something significantly expensive in terms of myself. the thirteenth changed the setting behind things. i thought it did. it would if all the players stuck to the science of rhyme and meter. if it was real. so, sorry for telling you that i felt a little terrible about what happened afterward. still, i never asked for anything from you.
and as far as my appearance on saturday night. i still didnt ask anything of you. i still didnt state a need.
that was for ME (as you would type it). did you really think i could sit at home after you, very inappropriately made the very arrogant request that i stay away from my church, my place of worship. you should have known that a man like me cannot be issued orders of territory even if you think the crown fits or that his temperance is worth taking advantage upon. taking the common respect for granted. you went too far with that one. thats not royalty. that was fascism. know the difference next time your playing court.
do not place any blame for that night on me. the one who took your arm and interrupted the twilight, the one who demanded you sacrifice your center cut of the attention because eyes were off him too long, because maybe yours might also fall on me for once instead of upon him - it is him that ruined the night.
he made direct ultimatums. he damned you to his rage. im not wrong for standing up for myself without even any words. i am still full of grace, little one, you cant tell me that i lost that, that i declared war. that i put up a fight. i did decide to make a stand for my pride. i cant let someone mark out the lines behind which i am not allowed to go. this is free country. i am welcome everywhere. i will not compromise any more for him. hes taken too much. i dont deserve to be told not to do as i please. you shouldnt have asked me. how dare you, actually.
he couldnt make good on his promise to hurt me, cowardly, he shared the credit of his mistake with you, pulling you from the stage, offensive not only to you but to those who you worked for - his priority isnt you, its his pride. i will not be the scapegoat for the clear evidence of his liability for the pain in the course of events on that evening.
and the emotions . . .
i never made you answer to my emotions.
maybe i should apologize for the INTENSITY of me. for loving someone who just doesnt deserve it. like an idiot, i still do. but its clear you were not meant for it. this was my human error. im sorry that my emotions made it hard for you to settle for less. how much you owe to a deficit.
all this, the permanence of condemning with these letters, could have been different, avoided, if you had just been true to what was real, true just to you (actually), and dealt with me personally. held yourself accountable for the current of things. called me up, say it isnt so, tell it to me straight, come on, live up, regardless of any decision, you know i wouldve accepted (supported even) what ever you were going to end up doing (except if it was at the expense of me), if only you had lived up to what has been, even if its over with.
just offer a little courtesy for someone who found it only too easy to express that, right from the beginning. and until the end. past that even. i wont hate you, hows that? ill wave good bye. i wont kick you in the butt.
theres really more to say but im not ever going to be saying it. if you cant figure it out then enjoy your front page headlines, mellowdrama, intensity free passtimes. otherwise, despite the neverever of this again, i will remember the rest of things as being very beautiful - to me.
over and out.
the end
8:32 am
21 feb: unaddressed
what right do you have to be angry? nothing has been taken from you. someone who can stand their ground would have stayed on the floor. you dont belong on center stage if you dont fight for it.
you know, things would have been much worse if ever i actually had declared war. all this that you both are running fast from is my decency. its just me, after all. and just that is too threatening for you. it wasnt an option for me to waste nuclear energy on this inverted infatuation with triangle test sites.
so now, indiangiver, please take back your "love". i would never have accepted you knowing that what you felt was so deformed. you are a distortion of what you presented.
the love you declared in that sorry little sick note is the thing that ive choked on throughout today. i let you con me into your world where it feels perfectly okay on your end to protest and throw your brat-tact temper tantrums and pass them off as a noble acts. your angry essay just comes across like the sound of begging.
proclaiming yourself guinevere. trying to reference real tragedy. real beauty. as if any of this could even reflect a facet of that. youve seen to that. dont fool yourself another minute. the authentic poetry to things that used to exist has become vomit, just tabloid trash. you, my lovely little girl, are the drama addict.
for the only one of us actually in control, you pout a lot about being the victim. a funny thing happened on the way to that parody of manners you call an opera, ophelia.
and now, with this convent act, pretending to be wounded just cause you didnt get all of us wrapped around your little fingers, just cause the ushers and the backrow scalpers stole the show. your burlesque of validation. and, on the subject of saturday, someone who isnt doing anything wrong wouldn't have been afraid, at least, to say hi. and now youre exiling yourself, off with this pretense of a solitary holy quest to heal your father. (a coverup for your lemonlifetime choice of shit eating housewife grins when hes late again coming home, little consolation prizes like knowing but having to pretend, forever ("i do" remember) that youre with a real loser, the ineligible bachelor behind door number zero. your father would doctor assist right now if he knew you used the idea of paying respect to the family tree just to live in sin.)
it doesnt surprise me. you love the fairy godmother act too much. im no fixer upper. of course you have to be with someone who needs a whole lot of help. in fact, its a real treasure to be with that particular rare find of that special cinderella who just cant be helped. youve got it made. lifetime supply of party tricks that dont stick. you know, the spell ends at midnight but, fuck, he cant tell time, so all your work trying to make him look a little bit less like the negative space he'll live up to being, will be in vain. thats okay, youre used to that. being vain, that is. everyone still knows what he is. and youve got the pictures to prove it. cheese!
dont try to stick your fingers in my eyes twice. ill probably let you do it and only have myself to kick in the end. cause you all just run away. im the only one left who still accepts any competency in these matters.
you assured me, my body was safe. well, james thought your body wouldnt be sacred anymore if you made love to me. i think he should have been more worried about me. youve disrespected everything since. im not going to give you the satisfaction of reviewing your behaviors and calling you on all your unforgivable little traits, but i just want you to know, you didnt get away with it. i just allowed you to believe your magic trick worked just because i thought you needed it and maybe it made you feel a little safer. youre a terrible con artist. a worse magician. you have a habit of cheapening gorgeous underlinings of genuine times. you cheapened the time weve been together and the high idealist terms, ideas about marriage, love, past lives, all that jazz, all of it, you just proved that everything is worthless to you when push comes to shove, coming down to it, its all just another trinket testing your credit limits.
the only thing you are after is your comfort, you safe slave labor, your habit of momentary pleasure, your disposable camera vanity. well, kick up your feet, sit back, relax. drink your vodka tonic. youve earned it. put your hands behind your head. lean back and sigh. what a hard days work. congrats on completing your little project. your mission impossible. i got caught. now youve disavowed any knowledge of me. well, i quit. im not working for you anymore.
top secret.
light a cigar, kid.
just wait though, your work is never done. the fight hasnt even started, you silly little snake charmer. the poisons not milked out of this one yet. wait till the threat of me is completely gone, he'll punish you for proving him lesser. he will payback the humiliation from being put in an arena with me by your initiation of our triangular dinner theatre, the awful undeniable record of his futile challenges, that he could have never lived up to even a vague concept sketch of myself that i graduated from before you could ink it in. he will get his pride back from his narcissus reflection in your lonely trapped film strip of tears. hes already busy writing the script.
you went with foolishness. with his tail between his legs. i never knew you were in love with the trend of martyr chic. you know, he wouldnt be up on that cross if you werent shining the spotlight. when hanging around gets tired hes going to get revenge for being in a position where an identity suicide was the only way to win you, what in his mind is a trophy from the competition.
i dont need to justify, make mention that i would have been good to you. at least sincere. but you should know you turned your back on a fine renaissance. a restofyourlife kind of thing. but, saying this isnt fair, i guess, cause i dont think you can ever get this from me ever again.
i will not be in debt with charity organizations. i gave to you. and you sent me a bill for what i owe. your taking, bountyhunter collectors sent after me after donating. mortgage my kindness so you could live off the high self-interest rates. this is the last straw. dont think that just because youre leaving that this is the reason im saying im through. you piled a whole lot of weight on top of me before i gave way to an end. this last insult to injury is just the final backbreaking price per pound. youve been disgracing us for awhile now. youve let me shoulder the burden.
masked behind this new self-help book psychology of choosing yourself.
inspirational thinking. you are always going to have yourself. its me youre never going to have again. and that onceinalifetime will be hard to find yourself back in unless you got plans on dying sometime soon.
youll never be let to forget about regretting this. your family wont let you live this down, you know. your grandmother liked me best (ha ha). and hello mother, hello father, greetings from camp trauma.
oh, im getting bored of this already . . . well . . .
the only thing between us, left, is a malpractice suit. i let you lie down with me. AND THAT IS THE REAL KICKER. you must be so darkened inside that you had to take yourself away, hide, after having been with me, where i let you be a part of something actually beautiful. that contrast between youandme and the contortion and the dimly lit bargain basement infidelities youve come to accept as love, must really crush you knowing you feel better laying lower in the failure where you are instead of just owning up to the honest notion of what you crookedly said was true love.
i guess you were good for one thing: i see very clearly now that i don't see very well at all. therefore, my next girlfriend should be an optometrist. i'll make an appointment first thing next week, tuesdays and thursdays work best.
i guess you're a pretty good fortune-teller after all.
unsigned
post script : i wasnt waiting for your permission to leave. not that you were invited at all to offer your advice either, on that particular matter. im just waiting for holiday traffic to clear up. it was presidents day, you know. hail to the thief.
11:32 pm
what right do you have to be angry? nothing has been taken from you. someone who can stand their ground would have stayed on the floor. you dont belong on center stage if you dont fight for it.
you know, things would have been much worse if ever i actually had declared war. all this that you both are running fast from is my decency. its just me, after all. and just that is too threatening for you. it wasnt an option for me to waste nuclear energy on this inverted infatuation with triangle test sites.
so now, indiangiver, please take back your "love". i would never have accepted you knowing that what you felt was so deformed. you are a distortion of what you presented.
the love you declared in that sorry little sick note is the thing that ive choked on throughout today. i let you con me into your world where it feels perfectly okay on your end to protest and throw your brat-tact temper tantrums and pass them off as a noble acts. your angry essay just comes across like the sound of begging.
proclaiming yourself guinevere. trying to reference real tragedy. real beauty. as if any of this could even reflect a facet of that. youve seen to that. dont fool yourself another minute. the authentic poetry to things that used to exist has become vomit, just tabloid trash. you, my lovely little girl, are the drama addict.
for the only one of us actually in control, you pout a lot about being the victim. a funny thing happened on the way to that parody of manners you call an opera, ophelia.
and now, with this convent act, pretending to be wounded just cause you didnt get all of us wrapped around your little fingers, just cause the ushers and the backrow scalpers stole the show. your burlesque of validation. and, on the subject of saturday, someone who isnt doing anything wrong wouldn't have been afraid, at least, to say hi. and now youre exiling yourself, off with this pretense of a solitary holy quest to heal your father. (a coverup for your lemonlifetime choice of shit eating housewife grins when hes late again coming home, little consolation prizes like knowing but having to pretend, forever ("i do" remember) that youre with a real loser, the ineligible bachelor behind door number zero. your father would doctor assist right now if he knew you used the idea of paying respect to the family tree just to live in sin.)
it doesnt surprise me. you love the fairy godmother act too much. im no fixer upper. of course you have to be with someone who needs a whole lot of help. in fact, its a real treasure to be with that particular rare find of that special cinderella who just cant be helped. youve got it made. lifetime supply of party tricks that dont stick. you know, the spell ends at midnight but, fuck, he cant tell time, so all your work trying to make him look a little bit less like the negative space he'll live up to being, will be in vain. thats okay, youre used to that. being vain, that is. everyone still knows what he is. and youve got the pictures to prove it. cheese!
dont try to stick your fingers in my eyes twice. ill probably let you do it and only have myself to kick in the end. cause you all just run away. im the only one left who still accepts any competency in these matters.
you assured me, my body was safe. well, james thought your body wouldnt be sacred anymore if you made love to me. i think he should have been more worried about me. youve disrespected everything since. im not going to give you the satisfaction of reviewing your behaviors and calling you on all your unforgivable little traits, but i just want you to know, you didnt get away with it. i just allowed you to believe your magic trick worked just because i thought you needed it and maybe it made you feel a little safer. youre a terrible con artist. a worse magician. you have a habit of cheapening gorgeous underlinings of genuine times. you cheapened the time weve been together and the high idealist terms, ideas about marriage, love, past lives, all that jazz, all of it, you just proved that everything is worthless to you when push comes to shove, coming down to it, its all just another trinket testing your credit limits.
the only thing you are after is your comfort, you safe slave labor, your habit of momentary pleasure, your disposable camera vanity. well, kick up your feet, sit back, relax. drink your vodka tonic. youve earned it. put your hands behind your head. lean back and sigh. what a hard days work. congrats on completing your little project. your mission impossible. i got caught. now youve disavowed any knowledge of me. well, i quit. im not working for you anymore.
top secret.
light a cigar, kid.
just wait though, your work is never done. the fight hasnt even started, you silly little snake charmer. the poisons not milked out of this one yet. wait till the threat of me is completely gone, he'll punish you for proving him lesser. he will payback the humiliation from being put in an arena with me by your initiation of our triangular dinner theatre, the awful undeniable record of his futile challenges, that he could have never lived up to even a vague concept sketch of myself that i graduated from before you could ink it in. he will get his pride back from his narcissus reflection in your lonely trapped film strip of tears. hes already busy writing the script.
you went with foolishness. with his tail between his legs. i never knew you were in love with the trend of martyr chic. you know, he wouldnt be up on that cross if you werent shining the spotlight. when hanging around gets tired hes going to get revenge for being in a position where an identity suicide was the only way to win you, what in his mind is a trophy from the competition.
i dont need to justify, make mention that i would have been good to you. at least sincere. but you should know you turned your back on a fine renaissance. a restofyourlife kind of thing. but, saying this isnt fair, i guess, cause i dont think you can ever get this from me ever again.
i will not be in debt with charity organizations. i gave to you. and you sent me a bill for what i owe. your taking, bountyhunter collectors sent after me after donating. mortgage my kindness so you could live off the high self-interest rates. this is the last straw. dont think that just because youre leaving that this is the reason im saying im through. you piled a whole lot of weight on top of me before i gave way to an end. this last insult to injury is just the final backbreaking price per pound. youve been disgracing us for awhile now. youve let me shoulder the burden.
masked behind this new self-help book psychology of choosing yourself.
inspirational thinking. you are always going to have yourself. its me youre never going to have again. and that onceinalifetime will be hard to find yourself back in unless you got plans on dying sometime soon.
youll never be let to forget about regretting this. your family wont let you live this down, you know. your grandmother liked me best (ha ha). and hello mother, hello father, greetings from camp trauma.
oh, im getting bored of this already . . . well . . .
the only thing between us, left, is a malpractice suit. i let you lie down with me. AND THAT IS THE REAL KICKER. you must be so darkened inside that you had to take yourself away, hide, after having been with me, where i let you be a part of something actually beautiful. that contrast between youandme and the contortion and the dimly lit bargain basement infidelities youve come to accept as love, must really crush you knowing you feel better laying lower in the failure where you are instead of just owning up to the honest notion of what you crookedly said was true love.
i guess you were good for one thing: i see very clearly now that i don't see very well at all. therefore, my next girlfriend should be an optometrist. i'll make an appointment first thing next week, tuesdays and thursdays work best.
i guess you're a pretty good fortune-teller after all.
unsigned
post script : i wasnt waiting for your permission to leave. not that you were invited at all to offer your advice either, on that particular matter. im just waiting for holiday traffic to clear up. it was presidents day, you know. hail to the thief.
11:32 pm
13 feb: sainted/sacred heart . . . heart of hearts:
i knew your face, i knew the lips that bled, open wounded speeches about the life you led, before there were words for you to speak them and before the day came upon us to speak them to one another, i cannot deserve you, i am not the one who can hear you, im only the man you looked for right. heart to heart.
i only can read and read and read deep into the spaces between your pulse - and whatever else is separated by the curse of patience, the patienceobserved that has me damned, my minds precious preoccupied fondness for everything youve let shimmer here for a moment, mine in my eyes.
are you, you are, youre on purpose, but why did you let the joke slip, whispered vespers, an x rated version of a prayer? this longing for you. this longing that is dark and, im sure they say were never going to work, and were unholy and . . . and beautiful? this that should not be? like the repeated pleasure of verse from some trash can scripture, from holy right, you know it from your left, dont you, and from this inexplicable perfection that made a mistake an made us up?
why do you threaten my life? youve made it worth more, more or enough for waking up for one more morning noon tonight hunger and of course one more of those cantseemtogettosleep stretches through another night? just one more bottle of beer on the wall, another space that isnt mine at all, another segment of time during which i am an intruder? my discord to your, to this, that voice of yours, your immaculate song? what love letter did you get from god? should i be jealous? well, okay, at least at first. ill get over that one too.
you, listening for her, what voices speak from under the red seas behind your ear - where you backstroke forever swapping childhood tales among the dead who have drowned there? waiting for cosmic devils to paint the sky different colors, bleed movement, call the siren of the storms to deliver a more divine manner upon this disaster of simpler fights? are you? whoareyou? you always ask me that. well, what about you?
do you know why you are the voice of a flood? bringing down the entire structure, my faith in words? my tower of babel, one word unite, talent can be instinct, poetry isnt a separate concept from the rest of life.
and this language, the one that we spoke yesterday, the invisible dialog we shared that scared enough of me to let you go through that door and out again into a scarier world, the phonetics that constructed our last conversation was once broken into pieces, worlds apart. but, you know this too, in the language of our yesterday there is only one word for love. and we were spoken words.
this flood of feeling that you left here at my apartment, oh, and yeah, you left a pair of panties as well, you must have lost them when you last were over, you should come and pick your stuff up, dont get me wrong, when you do youll stay awhile, but you should come. the overflowing that youve casually walked away from, the plumbing problem thats here now - did you jiggle the handle like i said? - well forty four thousand gallons of san francisco reservoir water is filling, bringing the whole house down, cry for help - shattered - splintered syllables into guttural tongues. too many different words. and intuitions fight each other. states war. nothing is sacred.
anymore.
but im still waiting here in case you knock on my front door, then ill throw this whole poem right down the drain.
consider it done.
7:38 pm
i knew your face, i knew the lips that bled, open wounded speeches about the life you led, before there were words for you to speak them and before the day came upon us to speak them to one another, i cannot deserve you, i am not the one who can hear you, im only the man you looked for right. heart to heart.
i only can read and read and read deep into the spaces between your pulse - and whatever else is separated by the curse of patience, the patienceobserved that has me damned, my minds precious preoccupied fondness for everything youve let shimmer here for a moment, mine in my eyes.
are you, you are, youre on purpose, but why did you let the joke slip, whispered vespers, an x rated version of a prayer? this longing for you. this longing that is dark and, im sure they say were never going to work, and were unholy and . . . and beautiful? this that should not be? like the repeated pleasure of verse from some trash can scripture, from holy right, you know it from your left, dont you, and from this inexplicable perfection that made a mistake an made us up?
why do you threaten my life? youve made it worth more, more or enough for waking up for one more morning noon tonight hunger and of course one more of those cantseemtogettosleep stretches through another night? just one more bottle of beer on the wall, another space that isnt mine at all, another segment of time during which i am an intruder? my discord to your, to this, that voice of yours, your immaculate song? what love letter did you get from god? should i be jealous? well, okay, at least at first. ill get over that one too.
you, listening for her, what voices speak from under the red seas behind your ear - where you backstroke forever swapping childhood tales among the dead who have drowned there? waiting for cosmic devils to paint the sky different colors, bleed movement, call the siren of the storms to deliver a more divine manner upon this disaster of simpler fights? are you? whoareyou? you always ask me that. well, what about you?
do you know why you are the voice of a flood? bringing down the entire structure, my faith in words? my tower of babel, one word unite, talent can be instinct, poetry isnt a separate concept from the rest of life.
and this language, the one that we spoke yesterday, the invisible dialog we shared that scared enough of me to let you go through that door and out again into a scarier world, the phonetics that constructed our last conversation was once broken into pieces, worlds apart. but, you know this too, in the language of our yesterday there is only one word for love. and we were spoken words.
this flood of feeling that you left here at my apartment, oh, and yeah, you left a pair of panties as well, you must have lost them when you last were over, you should come and pick your stuff up, dont get me wrong, when you do youll stay awhile, but you should come. the overflowing that youve casually walked away from, the plumbing problem thats here now - did you jiggle the handle like i said? - well forty four thousand gallons of san francisco reservoir water is filling, bringing the whole house down, cry for help - shattered - splintered syllables into guttural tongues. too many different words. and intuitions fight each other. states war. nothing is sacred.
anymore.
but im still waiting here in case you knock on my front door, then ill throw this whole poem right down the drain.
consider it done.
7:38 pm
9 feb: i wrote this on green paper diamonds lucky charms lunatic fringe im dropping like im frames from the sky on the fly moments dropping like flies evicted with the other garbage on trash day up in heaven.
were down here in the dumps.
she said olivia stated: why break the rules - id rather be unaware of them at all. this is the statesman and the storyteller the protagonist and the poet and i said in her stead (that) i am the sublimated subliminalism and im telling you why right now but youll never know what hit you psychosomatic domestic violent its going to thrill you (eventually) kill you if you stay stick(s and stones may be fake for bones but names always overidentify you) around whydontcha try me trial sized divorce court jest(her) hair in autumn its so lovely cant you fathom that i love you im just not supposed to tell you that yet it cant be read said sensed defensed but maybe you can keep it for yourself in savings trust bond double oh seven double decker dares to go eleven eleven toe to toe on the hour every other sour faced mixed alcohol taste comparison tested hour were on a roll were craps waiting for the lid to be blown on the rest of this stuff shooting stars lets toast to that yeah lets toast to white red blue black sucrose blush sugar kisses thats how the song goes a little like winter wth your baby sitter kid blisters you rub your hands together for warmth sander blaster master procrastinator your prints are still numb from the fallout from the snowfall but your method heater science frictionseizure is kicking you in your third trimester while your down in the dumps due dates deadline weight(less) watchers quite a looker you remember hook line and sinker i hear that youre quite the singer high note hitter hell of a hall of famer destined to be even greater all stater of the unobvious violators that the commas instigate with the missing spaces this punctuation maitre eraser creeper caper solved savior rinky dinker masturbator simulator maximum occupy a 2 seater 2 drink minimizer compr(old miser) one a penny two a penny penny for your thoughts . . . now im buying and its about now that you start speaking back.
8:02 pm
were down here in the dumps.
she said olivia stated: why break the rules - id rather be unaware of them at all. this is the statesman and the storyteller the protagonist and the poet and i said in her stead (that) i am the sublimated subliminalism and im telling you why right now but youll never know what hit you psychosomatic domestic violent its going to thrill you (eventually) kill you if you stay stick(s and stones may be fake for bones but names always overidentify you) around whydontcha try me trial sized divorce court jest(her) hair in autumn its so lovely cant you fathom that i love you im just not supposed to tell you that yet it cant be read said sensed defensed but maybe you can keep it for yourself in savings trust bond double oh seven double decker dares to go eleven eleven toe to toe on the hour every other sour faced mixed alcohol taste comparison tested hour were on a roll were craps waiting for the lid to be blown on the rest of this stuff shooting stars lets toast to that yeah lets toast to white red blue black sucrose blush sugar kisses thats how the song goes a little like winter wth your baby sitter kid blisters you rub your hands together for warmth sander blaster master procrastinator your prints are still numb from the fallout from the snowfall but your method heater science frictionseizure is kicking you in your third trimester while your down in the dumps due dates deadline weight(less) watchers quite a looker you remember hook line and sinker i hear that youre quite the singer high note hitter hell of a hall of famer destined to be even greater all stater of the unobvious violators that the commas instigate with the missing spaces this punctuation maitre eraser creeper caper solved savior rinky dinker masturbator simulator maximum occupy a 2 seater 2 drink minimizer compr(old miser) one a penny two a penny penny for your thoughts . . . now im buying and its about now that you start speaking back.
8:02 pm
7 feb: shame on you but its really shame on me:
to allow the contrived to permit disgust, there, smug almost, to sit on top along four thousand rows of other paleside spectators watching a sport of your dishonest and broken show of force, you and the rest of yours, all who are seconds to themselves, first to yourselves - i am ashamed - to have given the permission that was used to pretend to possess some righteousness while sitting among my hallowed halls built with dignity you never proposed, a nobility that your melting mother maria and that faded father of yours, they never contributed any worthwhile tortures towards, to what is now your own undoing, the tailbetweenyourlegs exile. you come from a low class home. you only have yourself to blame. i should forgive you because its only your diluted blood. its only your poison pedigree. everyone is better than you, inbreeding, i cant help but do nothing and still i can, i outclass your overrehearsed ensemble, that trite dress code, your drag queen life look alike, you envious pore, your skin absorbed the stink you leak and the fantasy we all let you believe while still, dont worry, we always felt ashamed, weve turned our faces away toward streetcorner salebodies and nervously let our minds tilt away from our disbelief that you had shared some moments with us. that we made the mistake of even acknowledging you in the first place. we dont admire your skinny bones. so, betsy bleeding heart, my preciously dishonored, discourteous, pretentious, ungracious slavetrading little boy - think about this when you next sit beside a piece of fiber and jot your recommendations out at me: my humility slaps me to say this - urge you to consider the manner ive been tackled down with the responsibilities of my medals and awards - not at all like your trophies or your forged diplomas - not like the awards you choose to decorate your body with, the ones you whored for, that you manipulated out of poor children foolish to pay enough rough draft attention to you that you took the time to tip them over with your zero hour magic wand so that their change would scatter for you to amuse your cruelty, there, you delighted in watching them chase pennies, and you felt satisfaction when they had to kneel in the gutter where they finally had their copper back in their hands. so now i state the fact that you are not alive, by fault. default demands. forfeit for security, isnt that a bit of irony. take notice . . . i know that you are a pretender. a mainstream catch phrase. rerun demiurge. a typically weak shell that could not be a home to the most diseased of scavengers, crustaceans or insects or nightmares sunk by cinderblocks after ive shot them full of those lovesick holes.
oh, i've forgotten how nice it feels to hate you. how dare you pretend to be able. you teach nothing except how to hone my blows and direct some aimless rage - get in the way of another nights frustration and ill show you everything you could never live hard enough to gleam from your imitated hollow coffin and your shallow stolen eyes.
trite make believe boys should pull down their pants, should hike up their skirts and roll down their pale hearts while they write in permanent marker (you know what permanent means, do you not) and should write 500 lines of that true admission that they are nothing, and never have, while serving their time in damp underground detention halls.
die easy
take your words with you as you go
there is no win win, clock ticker, waiter for armageddon, pitiful hartbroken wife beater, cheater
and dont contact this home any longer. you are never welcome here.
this is in or around noplace like home
9:19 pm
to allow the contrived to permit disgust, there, smug almost, to sit on top along four thousand rows of other paleside spectators watching a sport of your dishonest and broken show of force, you and the rest of yours, all who are seconds to themselves, first to yourselves - i am ashamed - to have given the permission that was used to pretend to possess some righteousness while sitting among my hallowed halls built with dignity you never proposed, a nobility that your melting mother maria and that faded father of yours, they never contributed any worthwhile tortures towards, to what is now your own undoing, the tailbetweenyourlegs exile. you come from a low class home. you only have yourself to blame. i should forgive you because its only your diluted blood. its only your poison pedigree. everyone is better than you, inbreeding, i cant help but do nothing and still i can, i outclass your overrehearsed ensemble, that trite dress code, your drag queen life look alike, you envious pore, your skin absorbed the stink you leak and the fantasy we all let you believe while still, dont worry, we always felt ashamed, weve turned our faces away toward streetcorner salebodies and nervously let our minds tilt away from our disbelief that you had shared some moments with us. that we made the mistake of even acknowledging you in the first place. we dont admire your skinny bones. so, betsy bleeding heart, my preciously dishonored, discourteous, pretentious, ungracious slavetrading little boy - think about this when you next sit beside a piece of fiber and jot your recommendations out at me: my humility slaps me to say this - urge you to consider the manner ive been tackled down with the responsibilities of my medals and awards - not at all like your trophies or your forged diplomas - not like the awards you choose to decorate your body with, the ones you whored for, that you manipulated out of poor children foolish to pay enough rough draft attention to you that you took the time to tip them over with your zero hour magic wand so that their change would scatter for you to amuse your cruelty, there, you delighted in watching them chase pennies, and you felt satisfaction when they had to kneel in the gutter where they finally had their copper back in their hands. so now i state the fact that you are not alive, by fault. default demands. forfeit for security, isnt that a bit of irony. take notice . . . i know that you are a pretender. a mainstream catch phrase. rerun demiurge. a typically weak shell that could not be a home to the most diseased of scavengers, crustaceans or insects or nightmares sunk by cinderblocks after ive shot them full of those lovesick holes.
oh, i've forgotten how nice it feels to hate you. how dare you pretend to be able. you teach nothing except how to hone my blows and direct some aimless rage - get in the way of another nights frustration and ill show you everything you could never live hard enough to gleam from your imitated hollow coffin and your shallow stolen eyes.
trite make believe boys should pull down their pants, should hike up their skirts and roll down their pale hearts while they write in permanent marker (you know what permanent means, do you not) and should write 500 lines of that true admission that they are nothing, and never have, while serving their time in damp underground detention halls.
die easy
take your words with you as you go
there is no win win, clock ticker, waiter for armageddon, pitiful hartbroken wife beater, cheater
and dont contact this home any longer. you are never welcome here.
this is in or around noplace like home
9:19 pm
6 feb: im going toward the lights of tokyo. the hong kong neon is the shadow i leave behind, stretching from nightfall until morning hues replace the dull bruise of dawn.
chinatune, slow travel contest backpacking with heavy footsteps across rice fields in a foreign august. im passing through an oriental budapest, asian arabian vertebrae stress test, veil dancing throughout the argepelligo, from the grapevine to los angeles overcast on la brae and wilshire on the day im returning to the willow avenues of san francisco divisadero and fulton minor. ursa major is growling me into physical certainty and im backing out, my way home.
communist lifestyle, anarchy lovelife, situationist smiles and mao lullabies, you are a lovely ventriloquist air traffic controller, radio frequency coming through the wound from right to left on your long slender neck. are you the voice whose source doesnt really exist or am i the dummy? kabuki comedy, makeup revealing all the fragile fingerprints you left on me, im dusting off, searching for forensic common sense, inebriated evidence, these consequences to our first impressions and false starts.
hurts, this hurts. my feet are swollen, blisters mark off the days and ive got another degree to add to my uv burns with every stateline left handed crossing guard i wave goodbye to. passport stamps, amicable strip searches, illicit rumors and nervous diversions. londons calling, the radio is playing me again, i fell for the trick of the dial again, once shame on you.
twice, shame on destiny.
third time. "call me?"
3:24 pm
chinatune, slow travel contest backpacking with heavy footsteps across rice fields in a foreign august. im passing through an oriental budapest, asian arabian vertebrae stress test, veil dancing throughout the argepelligo, from the grapevine to los angeles overcast on la brae and wilshire on the day im returning to the willow avenues of san francisco divisadero and fulton minor. ursa major is growling me into physical certainty and im backing out, my way home.
communist lifestyle, anarchy lovelife, situationist smiles and mao lullabies, you are a lovely ventriloquist air traffic controller, radio frequency coming through the wound from right to left on your long slender neck. are you the voice whose source doesnt really exist or am i the dummy? kabuki comedy, makeup revealing all the fragile fingerprints you left on me, im dusting off, searching for forensic common sense, inebriated evidence, these consequences to our first impressions and false starts.
hurts, this hurts. my feet are swollen, blisters mark off the days and ive got another degree to add to my uv burns with every stateline left handed crossing guard i wave goodbye to. passport stamps, amicable strip searches, illicit rumors and nervous diversions. londons calling, the radio is playing me again, i fell for the trick of the dial again, once shame on you.
twice, shame on destiny.
third time. "call me?"
3:24 pm
2 feb: my below zero boiling point, to you, my mimic, yeah you, well, i wanna know, you know, what you know, know what i know, know what it is to have it some of it all the time. theres hope streaking through the windex wiping out from last night; theres hope in your not being here this time and im starting to show the signs of enjoying it, im remembering how to hold my head up high again. something i stopped because i always had to watch where you were going. thank you, this is unexpectedly unexpectant, but you showed me everything a soul should never see until hes old and cant do anything about it. you fucked up kiddo. i know what you were up to, you were trying to steal the trademark, you were taking me over but instead we caught you and you let go of a carbon copy, a blueprint of myself. and everything, james, everything reminds me of something you said. somehow. someway. picture perfectly flawed, the flaws that make something just that much better, thats it, isnt it? thats what its always been about anyway. all that running away, famously, fabulously avoiding the state changes and the wide arrays of caution and delay, the inbetween grid of occasions and play. all work and no play. all write and no play. no play. makes jack a dull boy. dull boy. boy oh boy.
everythings cool, my man. dont worry your pretty (ugly) little head. im just an old man burdened with the weight of a rigid backbone. spine twisted and disordered. crooked. finding fill in the blanks. no null and voids. absenteeisms. regrettable determinism. springing, see you then... when? ever.
again.
this wont hurt a bit. its going to hurt alot.
no goodbyes, its a lie anyway, even the respite doesnt make up for it, and even the idea of return doesnt validate the falsehood. pity is the ultimate conceit, it turns a straight tooth into wisdom teeth that need to be removed, the goodbye is a sorry. so, yeah, no goodyes, and skys, eyes for looking inside and way out why, weighing out the whys, whying out the wait, alive. and thanks, again, for everything. i cant wait till even that runs out..
good riddance.
3:24 pm
everythings cool, my man. dont worry your pretty (ugly) little head. im just an old man burdened with the weight of a rigid backbone. spine twisted and disordered. crooked. finding fill in the blanks. no null and voids. absenteeisms. regrettable determinism. springing, see you then... when? ever.
again.
this wont hurt a bit. its going to hurt alot.
no goodbyes, its a lie anyway, even the respite doesnt make up for it, and even the idea of return doesnt validate the falsehood. pity is the ultimate conceit, it turns a straight tooth into wisdom teeth that need to be removed, the goodbye is a sorry. so, yeah, no goodyes, and skys, eyes for looking inside and way out why, weighing out the whys, whying out the wait, alive. and thanks, again, for everything. i cant wait till even that runs out..
good riddance.
3:24 pm
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