do you hear me?: Notes from the Dead Letter Office

I saved some plastic hearts from the trash.
there is a metaphor there somewhere.
or a cleaver bumper sticker.
so I have been digging around myself
challenging things
i’m working on being a better person
not that i have been a bad one
just not the best
I’m helping those in need.
and other odd jobs
a superhero with out a cape
for the first time in a bit i’m feeling good on my own
maybe it is time to love myself
while being selfless
but I can’t help wishing…
maybe another day
I’ll walk in dreams.

 

(Thursday, March 29, 2007)

 

Self Contained Conversations: Notes from the Dead Letter Office

Sometimes it is the grit and filth that makes things beautiful. Take sunsets for instance. The colors that capture out hearts are a byproduct of the pollution in the atmosphere. A simple perversion of normal light, bending it ever so slightly, taking your breath away.

Creating magical moments that stick to our hearts like refrigerator art. Moments that live on much longer than the gradient of day and night. Now apply the joys of a sunset you have shared with a special someone. Hand in hand moments with nominal degrees of separation between beauty and grit.

Should adults living in a fairy tails?

The ones and zeros, are error corrected.
The transformation, caterpillar to butterfly
Dinosaur to oil
A magic trick to entertain children
Birthday party bound
Bleeding in the street
Twenty years later
Remembering backwards
A simplistic complication
Divided contractual basis
Hopscotch, Motherfucker
Double dutch Detroit tickler
Thumb stroke on a Rolex watch
This is not entertainment
This
This here is a heart exploding
This is a one eyed man
In the kingdom of the blind
This is brailed bass for the deaf
These are the bumps that make you quiver
This is my touch in the heat of summer.
The type of touch that raises those hairs
that you don’t show anyone.

I’m getting thirsty.

Sometimes, yes it is that easy. It is a special curse to listen to people and not just hear what they are saying, but to hear what they mean. I think that is why people are shocked at my advice. Usually it does not pertain to the subject at hand but it does address the root of the problem. For most people that want to pop a pill and deal with the symptoms this is hard to digest. For the few people that are comfortable with poking around and to feel out their issues my advice is usually a good landmark to travel by.

At any time that you start to question yourself this is a good indication that you need to slow down for a second and perform a self check. See if the check clears your bank before you start spending credit all over town. Because you never know who might come to collect. You never know when angles will go hunting on wings dipped in blood. I have tried to follow the stars to saviors. I try to do good. I still can hope.

I am being watched.
This feeling hasn’t happened in a long time.
I felt the same when I was a child

Playing in a spare bedroom
in the duplex where I grew up

A spirit of light would raise
form behind a dresser
that belonged to my mother

When she was a child.
The spirit felt good, it was curious
It missed the feeling of being alive
Just watching.

I guess I am projecting
quite a lot right now
all these creative juices
a massive amount of energy
In a outward flow for my being

All out one and with out direction

I feel really clean right now
I feel slow but the right speed
maybe this is what people call relaxed
usually bouncy and edgy

Right now completely comfortable and complacent
Maybe I just need to kick off these socks
Excuse me
I like the floaty bits
Dust in water and refraction of bubbles
The particulars of particulates
Rapid LFOs
Someone hit the drummer with a freeze ray
The sound brings to mind standing still in a busy airport
Taking in all the sounds at once and finding the rhythm of life
Tray table up, the exit is in the row behind you
Beep beep, sup motherfucker?

Crosswalk handjobs
Stick shift vibrations
Popping that clutch
Losing traction
slippery when wet
Detroit Tickler.
Waking up the neighbors

Kids today, I remember when…
I remember the machine’s final beep choirs
The face contorted
feeling like I failed

Have you ever seen a saint die?
The white bird, my hero
Don’t let your loved ones grow up to be cowboys.
Don’t have the dream to grow up to be a musical instrument.
Dumbing down visual language

Pulling the wings off flys

Taking that next step
This journey to the edge of the universe

And to scared to take that next step
fools and prophets

The silent teachers

Carnal contradictions
just holding my breath
like eight bit drum sounds
performance art breaking the ice.

Sometimes, specifically at awkward times like these,
I wish life was scripted.
I would pick up the loosely bound manual,
thumb a few typed pages ahead
in hopes of putting to rest
this feeling of uneasiness.
Wishful thinking aside.
I also have my fair share of heartbreak,
mixed with sprinkles of collapsed dreams,
and frosted with the fear of tarnishing
the most beautiful thing in my life.
But sometimes we have to forget
the issues and do what is right.

(Monday, March 26, 2007)

Lines and Spaces: Notes form the Dead Letter Office

Outside on a nice day, breathing fire.
The sky is a refreshing deep blue
Drowning in my thoughts on dry land.
I come up for air and notice
the grass below my feet damp and growing
I have the notion of digging a hole
burring my head
like a cartoon ostrich but
my shadow tell me not too.
I believe it.

My attention turns towards the sky again
There is an antenna on the top of the building where I work.
It is thin and white, it looks like a fold in the sky
The sky sundered
This is my side, that is yours
Like a divorce from myself
When did all this happen
In time and experience
Adding up to this moment
No way of getting around it.
A detour if you will let me.

Do you remember that intoxication smell.
It was on my clothing as I sat there
With the fan over head
Listening to the motor and blades
stirring the air with a mechanical whir
All of this is comforting, but I am still awake
Day dreaming of days here and then
A slide show behind my eyes.
Another migraine.

And maybe I’m getting ahead of myself

(Friday, March 09, 2007)

A Sense of Spinning: Notes from the Dead Letter Office

So many tangents extend form the center of I that it is hard to keep up sometimes. The I that is not fully contained within me, but to the rest to the universe may define me. The puppet populated world that is occupied indefinitely by this unbridled Ego. The static image quantified by this mind, body, and sprit. So many timeless riddles with missing pieces causing sleepless nights and inner turmoil. I try to find the equation to define all this haphazard reasoning and am constantly fruitless. So much thought wasted applied to this cosmic machine. A machine bent on consuming that burns with an amber white heat, and a stink of rotten frustration. The machine inevitably begins to break down.

Looking inward at problems that plague my mind is the need to control situations. The lonely desire for everything to fit the convoluted role produced in my mind. An unfulfilled dream naked and in complete juxtaposed by a grueling half-assed definition of reality. Choices and decisions that are confronted in the lifetime so far feel minute and fake. A general overall feeling of lack that cheapens the overall experience.

I desire to feel again, to connect. To have a reason to push my boundaries that are closing in. A connection without the regret of feeling dirty or misplaced. Let’s call it mutually beneficial. To flow minus the social political blockage. So I keep pondering all these interconnections. A sweet innocent minute without all the scrambled indifference. Just like most of you out there, I have the fear of waking up and wondering where it all went. Maybe I’m not the Hero or Monster in my own book, just a minor passerby. The blue dry eyes peering through a crack in the wall. Observe and learn keeping out of sight, safe and sound.

It’s interesting what get thrown at our lives when we live them. Too long huddled in a self depriving hospice for thoughts and feelings. To once again to live the tiniest little bit. To disrobe the monkeys on our back that keeps us quite, groomed and lacking the nutrition of connecting with other people. Sometimes it is very scary to say hello because one day we will have to say goodbye.

I got a twinge of the past that decided to haunt me, but this time sitting on the other side of the fence. I could almost see myself inverted. The understanding was a harsh lesson. A lesson that needed to be felt, not something that could possibly be understood by textbook reference. In all actually it felt equal parts fascinating and nervous terror. So lesson learned and internal boundaries set.

I have seen people act as animals. Opportunity may land at your feet, but that does not mean you have to take action. Lack of discretion, a means of promoting self-loathing. Self hatred is an amazing drug, and it is just that a drug. I have been a long time addict. Caught in a vicious cycle that can be avoided if you pay attention, but by the time you are knee deep you are too late. You will drown without help.

All your actions have equal and opposite reactions in the world. A friend told me one day that “we hold the hearts of others in our hands”. I feel that is very true. This is the laws of nature 101. We are all trying to find the balance that we see fit, most of the time we are blind to the wake we leave.. The continuous motion that makes up the background noise. Highs and lows we ride the wave, hoping that we do not capsize. We don’t want to let those around us that we can no longer keep afloat by our own means.

I know I promised a recount of last week, but on second thought, or maybe third. I think I’m going to keep it closer to home, call me a liar if you will, I will own that badge for now. Most of it seems like reality made of Jello as I read these pages, so I don’t know how to make it seem real to anyone else. I hope some of this finds a place in your head or heart. I’m not sure what I’m trying to get across, I guess too long to ponder my own thoughts alone.

(Wednesday, November 29, 2006)

That Human Feeling: Notes from the Dead Letter Office

The state of my body:
There is a fist in my chest crushing all in side.
behind my sternum heavier that the rest of my body.
breathing becoming difficult.
i’m tearing myself apart again.
like rats leaving a sinking ship
nothing will be saved
poison turned into violent medication
no crys for help, no brash actions
just lost and in a state of unforgiven silence
what’s left making me tick
doesn’t tick as much as vibrates
how did it get this far
I ‘m sorry for everyone that I have locked out
and left on the side of the road
with out a word, a good by
I feel like a monster and by your reaction
there is evidence i am
I don’t know what to say…
again.

———————

man is not created equal and that’s half the fun
its through life and understanding that
that equality should shine

———————

I keep having a dream:
there is a house unfamiliar to me
it lives under the stairs, just there out of sight
in a earthen basement
the smell is unique
there is movement and it is welcomed
i am afraid
the creature before me hold no shape
at least a shape held for enough time that can be described
it constantly mutates
the outer layer which i will call skin or protoflesh
is smooth and pale, marked with veins
you can see inner workings doing what they do
it lacks the desire and need to be described
i am not sure if it needs to eat
but i feed it things, things i want to forget
not deal with, this is my dirty little secret
i don’t know how it started, and i don’t know how to stop this ritual
i wake feeling uneasy, usually resulting
in a purge of what’s in my stomach
which is usually bile and nothing else
i shower but cannot get myself clean

 (Wednesday, October 18, 2006)

Guts: Notes from the Dead Letter Office

replaced with broken glass and some type of rabid rodent
frothing and starved, gnawing, tragic growth
why did I try to fix all these problems
a veil to shield eyes from the view, running
the back of the brain smoldering
rusted plastic toys, piercing your foot in the lawn
dammit not again
look deeper internal, external and back again
rewind the truth all red warm and wet
I can’t get the stains off my hands
the stains of necks snapped in ID propelled
unconscious desire fueled nightmares
during waking hours
eggs
hells
pianos underwater drowning microphone wet dream
the birds outside asleep snoring
all these maybes
maybe’s like unfound talent
or maybe’s like uncertainty
a liability, an ability to lie
digital thuds bass movement of atmosphere
creates friction
Fuck it I’m going where my stuff is…

(Monday, September 25, 2006)

Ya Know: Notes from the Dead Letter Office

right now i feel as big as these letters on this page
underdeveloped and decomposing composition of a human being
what is that ringing in my ears
the lights are vibrating
the desire to tear off my skin
looms on the 2 seconds ago
teeth chattering
that familiar tune

i got to shine like you
god
shine like you

my back is bent wrong and warm with pain
this chair the perversion of comfort
windowless. where is my sky, my earth
trapped tree in a box
I need the sun to grow

a willing partisipant in my own demise
salty fat back pork rind orange juice
the food is killing me
i am deaf drunk
I desire silence
the noise penetrating

the restrooms walled with the stench of ofal
thick oozing the back of my mouth
watering
tasts like i am filtering shit and corn through my teeth
like a whale in the ocean
but i’m just a man in concrete

raise your hand if you wish you were me

the dog is dead.
the dog was demented
walking into walls
brain tumers they think
now with my dad
if you believe in shit like that
you know

Thanks for all this is created
the words friction vibrating ears
drum keeps my company heart beat onward
till tomorrow
maybe.

(Tuesday, August 08, 2006)

One More Time: Notes from the Dead Letter Office

Fuck.
I’m just about on that edge.
please push me.
please
let me drop…

People talking just to waste air and ideas.
No one gaining anything from all the noise.

Yack Yack Yack.
Buzzword bullshit
I want my time back.
I’m going to hold my breath.
quickly turning red
my brain is choaking sweetness
its starting to feel all warm and fuzzy
cottoncandy blanched and rotting
I think my mom is putting the dog down.

BANG!
and I need to hear a soothing voice.
somewhere out there.
a missed connection.
third and market
cell phone charger
beatnick black guy hat
need to pay his bills
dred lock phone number
subtereinian computer store
crippled escalator with polio braces
i need a map
to blank media nap
and check out obsured by things and bad lighting
be still and they won’t notice
I feel trapped on an island
passing messages to the outside world
you know that H word
seeding music
plants perfection
insideout growth like nightmare socks
the beanstock castle mage of glass and anger
god sits in this space
on a phone
with a PR agent
“murry” god exclaims, “they are fucking it all up in my name.
What can you do about this?”
I wake up.

More dreams
my teeth are black in the dream.
I scrub, scrape the teeth are getting smaller
the rot is never gone.
i rip at the gums
the death will not come out
like stains on my sheets
i am crying
i am frustrated
a million things
and i cannot focus on one
i need an echo
i need some light
i need a hammer
maybe just some nails?
Fuck…

(Monday, August 07, 2006)

Missedspelled Phonetic Nightmares: Notes from the Dead Letter Office

Harbor theses intentions
so criminal a container
so thirsty the desire
to take everything that
is not nailed down
in this room of unsettling dust
creating friction, electric, the air igniting
movements so quiet they cannot be seen
but look farther, child
behind these fish eyes

Can you not smell the storm
carved out on distant horizons
to blow it all away

So far that distance cannot be measured in lifetimes

Dreams smelted down
their weighting gold ingots
sparkling at the bottom of the ocean
the sun reflects defiance that
populates each breath of the game of life
dice, hard 8, crossing fingers and
magic things, seen in the dark
when you are alone
or just a lonely fish
in a bowl never remembering
tail reflected in you home
a prison on both sides. security
from colliding wet friction
warm to the smell lingering on
but not for much longer
the sun is going down and a mother
calls for their child off exploring
open worlds feeding imagination
the fruit of growth delivering
salvation’s fine print
no one dares to check

Off to the land of left socks
and sweet fathers missed
I have taken the lords name in vain

Gratitude the armor

Protecting the innocent

The eyes view
across the yard
my lover sits
green gardens wet texture, blue like moisture
the chair of iron
gently grasps each curve
she dances in flame
i breathe it in
in my guts
quench

The audience is watching and
the time is still trickling
outside these walls
an ark is being built
of Barbie doll crotch fantasies
and green men melting
sticking to concrete
and marsh mellow animals floating
on the ocean upside down reflected
infinite bending the upside down optics
the beauty unraveled

(Tuesday, July 25, 2006)

With and Without Cords: Notes from the Dead Letter Office

So, you know we are dangerous
for each other right?

We sit here
and open up
with the language
of ourselves
exposing the tender
raw bits.

Here are my insecurities,
here is my doubt,
here is my fear,

Here is the everything
I haven’t had
respect enough
to share, but
it doesn’t mean
that I’m not
scared.

All of this
wrapped up tightly
hand delivered
two hundred miles away
on a silver platter
of trust.

We dissect these
little badges
of wax and shame.
Expose them for
unneeded weight
while choking
in the sea of life.

What is left
are diamonds that
were once in the rough
you know diamonds just look
like ordinary
rocks without being
processed.

(Tuesday, July 11, 2006)