Moments in Time: Notes from the Dead Letter Office

(Laundry and other domestics done for now, but like the sun there is a pattern. The tempo of my heart, can you hear it humming. Down to business. Ahem… )

Quote. Sometimes I drift off and imagine myself as the Tin Man from that famous movie. The black and white picture. Most of us have seen the film to the end. I think that we can all agree that he was never really missing his heart in the first place. In knowing this, I no longer have to be afraid for his heart. He simply forgot how to use it. These whacky hearts come totally unboxed and without a manual or warranty. Could a set of simple to follow, assembly instructions help us navigate clear nights. Not lost, but simply trying to find our way home. Many things are left up to interpretation, too subjective to really measure up to the standards we have set in place. We “know” in this day of age, but have chosen the disregard finding out for ourselves and the unknown magic. Humans grow older with each passing generation on this Earth. Forgetting the innocence of childhood is out crowning achievement. Some of us still harbor the ways of old. Passing them to those in our lives. A small spark to light dark times. We are unwillingly transplanted into the “normal life system” of well being, but never seem take hold in the nervous system. We are rejected by the host. Resistance to acceptance. Hang on, Hang on. Throughout our short history we have tried to stop the one thing that would allow us to remember that we are whole. We name, separate, drawing lines, define, pick sides, we kill. In these bodies we are not perpetual, we must consume energy to regulate and to grow. The sun, plants water fruit, repeat. Prey and hunted ecosystems are simply a dynamic exchange of energy to promote balance. The scales have tipped spilling milk and we are crying. Dear lord how we cry. Wet sobbing tantrum tears, we hold our breath red and blue, then we fall asleep, quiet. We forget that we must wake up. Pull the crust from our eyes and disassociate with the drool on our all too comfortable pillows. What is us and what is the character playing us in the TV movie. It is hard to resist bait that was created to lure you into complacency of reality. Trust is truly hard to come by, true trust. Not this trust that has a payment plan, contracts, never mind small print trickery of lawyers and devils. Like dominoes the people fall, but they tend to fall at a geometric rate of apathy. One, two, community, city state losing contact with us. I have heard of the “Me generation” looking back over my shoulder in the rear view mirror, but I was young during those times and don’t remember much. A base nature of survival gone out of control. We have grown fat with contentment of surviving so long on a prescribed diet of tar and stimulants. Addicted to life at all costs. Are some just staring at the green light wrapped up in the noise and routine. Scheming replaces dreaming at some point. Uprooted and moved to the wrong side of the tracks with all the other unmentionables. Disheveled hollowed out carcass beaten down so far that the sell themselves. Passing down the mantel like a ton of bricks used to build their own jail. A prison of the mind the soul for generations. The main attraction is eating himself, there will be no concourse. If you see my heart. I’m sorry.

Wings, and a flaming sword, Talons and brething fire, I wonder why anyone would trade those for a Mohawk and cigarettes? Maybe the resume was too good to pass up? Some tools need care or they rust. Wearing shoes that fit can make the world of difference. Remembering to embrace your enemy and keep them close, comes to mind for some reason. You never know when you might need a friend. To know an enemy is to know yourself, entirely. I heard my mother ask someone once “when was the last time you have looked in a mirror?” I doubt this was a question of garden variety vanity. Reflection and time can be important lessons when taken into consideration. The negative of your equations can provide interesting results. If you map the universe to a plane and equate it, the negative of that equation is proof of other universes. Black holes consume, white hole produce energy. Equal points bridging gaps in space. How do we manage with all the space between us?

Sometimes it is quiet inside me. These small opportunities cannot be counted on for their punctuality. The derived worth can only be explained by a collector of such items. Some would not conciser these artifacts of any value. I get a little sadder thinking bout it. The overlooked potential. If I told you the end of the story would you thank me for putting you at ease? Some might conciser me damned for ruining the good part. How can I live with this,… Everything will be OK.

This jaw is aching from all the yawning my body is decided on performing. The signs point to getting some rest in the next few hours in a semi horizontal position. Thanks.

February 18, 2009

And when I decompose listing to your drunken prose… Notes from the Dead Letter Office

We gaze into what lies beyond our claustrophobic shells
what seems like loneliness is proof of time passing
Scratch and dent cheap soulless confection
At what point did we bar ourselves from out hearts
What were we afraid of letting access to these places?
Or were we anxious about letting things out into general population?
The constructed cages built around our malfunctioning monsters
What nots and worries right there next to hopes and dreams
Like convicts learning how to better get ah head in that outside world
At some point some wanted all this to be understood and safe
Everything can unfold just as easily as it was created
if without reasoning’s bonding agent and logical concerns tamper proof entropy
Pre-manufactured lifestyles boxed and wrapped silo’d individuality
Wound so tight you can hear atoms breaking their chemical orbit
Skin pulled tight across cancer bloated bones the prize at the bottom
Unblinking orbs exhibit functionless observation with a piercing dull ache
The lights flicker the same message in fluorescing S.O.S.: reward
Strike and be done with it. Take me into your wet maw.
Snap my neck and let me dream forever. These are the complaints of possibilities
A trick of the light and plastic porno smooth crotches
The carrot condones it pursuers, the never ending dance
Round they go, elliptical fornication, where it stops no one knows
Russian roulette rules with Vegas payouts
The next big thing dangling
Mission control freak out
Panic button wolf criers
Finding it hard to communicate

(February 18, 2009)

It fit the time…: Notes from the Dead Letter Office

One single thought
Some of the darker daft punk comes to mind
Daft punk but less poppy
It is all there, minus the glossy candy coated shell
The center of a tootsie pop
Pop, can remain a dirty little secret
Like all those songs sung while vacuuming
Knob twiddlers in their bedroom studios
A union of digital and analog
A universal truth
A sanctuary for time
Without the burden of linear thought
And spell check
Sherpas of a different kind
Apply within
Capturing overlooked moments
Not living with “ifs”
Is math coming from these speakers?
Streams of thought with good friends
A full belly and a good movie
The Juxtaposition of creativity and stability
An artist with a job
Random bits on a borrowed keyboard

(Tuesday, August 12, 2008)

Execution of Thoughts: Notes from the Dead Letter Office

72 miles of what feels like crazy. A journey to somewhere not on a map you can see with your eyes. An ambrosia of metaphoric of feelings. A transitional phase that cannot be measured by terms of reality. So what is the point? In truth I am not sure. The distillation and formulation of this illustration is awkward, crawling. Skinning knees bruising hands. The cost. As a people, we need to stop and think. Smell the Roses, the flowers, the dead people. Most of the time is spent blinking, mouth breathing, anointed with lust. the basic in-and-out. I want out. The constant prescription to over stimulation. Force fead at all times.

Wasting time. to waste away in time. Should have thought about that a long time ago. I can’t help, but feel a bit written off. I’m sorry I get scared. At this point I need silence. At a point that I am so gated and closed off I can’t see the light of day. What makes me stop talking? maybe it is the constant argument I don’t want to make people feel bad. Too hot to sleep. To tired to manage my thoughts. Demons in my bathroom mirror, watching. I am watching back. Trying to clear my head. Empty, whole. I cannot rest with my mind and body against me. Maybe I can wait this out?

I feel like I have been lieing to myself. Ever since I was 10 and got that concussion/amnesia cocktail I have had problems with memory loss. Maybe a relationship is not in my future. I like have some around to share life with. I don’t need someone there to complete me or any of that sappy crap. Don’t get me wrong I enjoy sappy crap. I’m saying I don’t survive on it.

well back to work and looking for a new place to dwell.

(Friday, July 11, 2008)

…Your Tredmill: Notes from the Dead Letter Office

Fuck your tredmill
Production carrot whore
Confused and demoralized
Looking back, this is what I am worth
Sonnabitch, i have been lied to
holding patterns
hardest working man in the biz, fluffing
I so want off
but so afraid
I haven’t got a leg up in while
why have I been striving to be apart of the good ol’ boys club.
am i still to blame because I am a free thinker
I question your accountability
fuck your couch!

(Friday, March 14, 2008)

Late: Notes from the Dead Letter Office

If we save ourselves then
who is going to save the rest of them
hard at work that will never end
This is the good work though
one more time seeing people
hit when they are down
needing a hand up

it has been an interesting day so far
I forgot to call my mom
I feel like a bad son
I know I’m not but in a way
it is in there, hiding behind
the excuse of working
ever so diligently
self hatred
the perfect predator
blending into the background
wall paper demons

the boogeyman adapts to his prey
different names and faces
tailored to illicit a specific responses
different food for different times
breakfast for dinner
a late night bowl of cereal

I can do nothing
at this moment but do as I do
keep on moving, and praying
tapping my toes, whistling this
until we can look back and learn from all this
better with age

I look around and wonder
what all this is?
nothing finite, or perfectly defined
some incite, would be nice right about now
just wondering if, maybe
not if’s, no regrets
only full of wonder
maybe when’s, or should I think abouts

always thinking
the mind not at rest
hungry, but will I ever be full
or content. Currently not wanting much
but not content, almost

at times seems lacking
once again

Faith in good things
Hope that tomorrow comes
a bond and a sunrise
Shared moments, the stuff dreams are made of
little bits of nothing
that mean the world
yet won’t register on any standards scale
no measurement for the things that matter

but you, who ever you are
do you feel this too
I can’t be alone in this
it seems too common
I’m over here healing
my intentions set
and the wind at my back
I just don’t know what to say
Feeling unloved for who I am

always a change
never quite good enough
always stipulations
a bump in the road
a glitch in the system
wanting to create, with mittens of destruction

I watched him die
I wish I had a mirror
to watch me die
at that moment
drastically different
lacking sparks

the part of me that cared
struggling under the pressure
of my clenched fists
nails biting into my palms
frustration, leading to positive outcome

this will all work out
a mantra, be still
a gift to listen, a burden to bare
I wish I could wear a cape
can I be your superhero
that’s what I wanted to be when I grew up
at this age I forgot what it all meant
things got shuffled
turned about, heading back into the wild
no more bread crumbs
the witch’s plan exposed
but the children are separated and
growing hungry with which passing moment
loose ends, at a high cost

why are we mean to each other
exposed to bad things at an early age
or in general, a torch passed
my parents stopped their history
of bad home relationships
an oath to what ever the cost
to not repeat
they did a decent from my perspective
we don’t come with handbooks
a collective of histories
genetic defects and learning disabilities

so one more night alone with my thoughts
wondering why I share them
I guess it is cheaper then “talking to a professional”
a thing we can do for free if we only trusted
trying not to bring our troubles home I guess
On the fence with being sensitive and guarded
problems with being myself

was it the punishment of schoolyard folly?
Never fitting in, an alien
the adaptation over time
that found me here
a mixture of reactions
but I want to learn more
I am open for examples

And adventures
but trapped in other ways

fuck it I’m done.

(Thursday, September 20, 2007)

Night: Notes from the Dead letter Office

So what does this have to do with anything, nothing I guess. Some time ago something broke deep with in me. Such is life that has been lead. I shake my fist at life. Try harder mother fucker, I’m still ticking. It is amazing what I have survived on my own scale of brutal truths and half fulfilled dreams. The times I have had on this journey to adulthood, and there after have been interesting to say the least. I have had my fare share of downs. Don’t get me wrong. good times too, but way too quickly those good times came crashing down around my ears. Can anyone listen? Why am I drowning. Should I give up and continue on a different path in the next lifetime. I guess there is always a next time. What are the lessons that I am to learn from all this? More questions, never quite sure. A new coat of paint should work. The sky is a canvas. We dangle below trying to hold on to what is near and dear, and not fall off the planet. Can you love you me? Not who you want me to be, but the person waving at you right now. The ups and downs. We all have our faults and scars, physical and mental, visible and invisible. No faults, or finger pointing. The need to grow up, and be responsible. My inner child yearning for play. I try to feed him, give him attention and love. Maybe that’s not enough. A dichotomy of subjective values like the parts of a sentence, stuttered incorrectly. Foundational needs that could never be met like respect mixed with trust. I can’t do it. To hurt myself like this. All these thoughts. Pick and choose, am I failing because I am protecting myself too much, life without danger, or is danger everywhere. A transferred protection from being the frail skinny kid, with a doped up family life. A good family life mind you, but a bit odd. I know I was loved, and I have loved. Part of for me will do anything while in the grasp of that love. Is that wrong? Is it wrong to give your opinion? As a partner, lover, friend. Intertwined the two indistinguishable over time. Why was it so hard. I know part of it, and I know my side. What else? I feel like I missed so much. So close on numerous levels. That’s pretty good. I am thankful for that. A glimpse, a sweet taste of your natural perfume. Intoxicating. Above and beyond, there we go. I’m going to pray, for what I don’t know but just leaving the light on. In hopes that it will guide that soul to mine. The origin of love? I like that song in that movie, you should see it. In only a few minutes. On this small keyboard on an IBM laptop. I thought laptops were called laptops a long time ago. I remember when I figured it out. I felt foolish. I need to move so I can finish up my book. I really wanted to create something this year. Music, random art, photos, the book, something. Something for me. just for once. A little bit of something good to show some others that I am a good person, and that I care. We all have these moments one day or another. Doing some things I have never done before. Testing the waters a toe at a time. I have decent luck with a few aspects of my life. Growing up bit by bit. Words that need hyphens. A big mess the great truth, all these connections. Why do we try to tear them apart? The mistakes of our fathers. the sins of our generations past. the present now always passing. heart beats, the body changes. Am I the person that I wanted to grow up and be. not the child’s dream that we all have. I think I am. yeah… I have know my whole life that this would be me… I forgot some of the finer details. but the inner core, yeah. Me. I have been regarded as a profit. Yet people don’t believe what they hear. the hear past it, not to what truly what is in front of their eyes. like things being too good to be true. Isn’t that what we were taught? be afraid, uncomfortable, struggle, over and out. I just want a hug. can we help each other out? I’m rambling on again. forgiveness. all these words. I don’t even care what I have written. this feels good. a way for someone will listen, and not think I’m broken. I do know so few people that are happy with the people around them. not trying to change them. we all accept us. features and flaws a whole. not separated out and defined. predictable. the move comes to mind. and what is tied to the whole thing. wow i thought my upstairs neighbors just fell through the roof. yet another reason. To bad I can’t string together things that are meant to be works. Just rambles. Dammit. always the beginning and ends of a book but never the middle. one day i hope to have some help with the middle. maybe in bed with a spring breeze at our toes. maybe I can still dream. That is why the dream can change, adapt. we can still feel lie good people when the chips are down. the time that it really matters. the beauty is out standing and they run. off the cliff, and into the ocean to be reborn. the next evolutionary step. what is at the top of these stares. sounds like one hell of a trip. a fold out map of existence, as a children’s pop-up book. insanity and stability are not derivatives of the same cloth. the acts of free will. rare as they are at this time of existence. so much yelling at people these days. for the most part, living billboards. post none, want none. filling holes forever deep. A quest. Magical little bits, the IDM friction. I don’t want to get up out of my couch. two cheers for laptops. they serve multiple purposes a single tool. tomorrow should be a good day. a new beginning. I have that thing at 8 so I may hit the sack early tonight. hopefully i can get out of work at a normal time. 9:07pm on a Monday night. a phone call just cut out. well just cot the call back. my friend is going through some odd stuff. I’m trying to be there. I cannot recant my actions. I cannot for respect of myself. and that is one of the last things that I have to hold onto. everything seems to slip away. everything seems to shift, a gradient. sometimes the transition is seamless and sometimes abrupt. we last th fine controls to shift the shades to fit out plan. no need to fix any of this. it is not broken. favor and not your way is the flow of the universe. there are times when the reality that i have constructed ever so diligently devised. tricks of the trade. i feel like i got lied to. about big things, small things and all the things that matter. the shinny bits that catch our eyes. fixated. going on. for some reason. i always do in the end. dynamic. it is hard to count on people after being let down time and time again. classic conditioning. the how it is. basic mechanics. the gears of the universe need some greasing. Our toil of out backs. Each generation losing traction. I am a good person and want to pass that on so that this knowledge can be leveraged. built up on. supported and broken. I want to be introduced to worlds beyond my scope. i have done the best I could have. always trying. on the verge of giving up sometimes. but never looked too far down that road. I always had something important to hang on to. a spark in the distance to run to. I think that is why I fall so hard sometimes. breathing the best thing to do sometimes. Asking in the world around you. close your eyes and imaging what should look like. the colors of the sky at dusk. your first time you waited for the birds to wake up. one day into the next. the halves seeking a middle. magnetic attraction. polar opposites revolving counterclockwise. ticking. piano. songs that won’t get created, never finding a home. All these things that will never get to see the light of day. a line of time like yarn bendable. points being unwound, the final hairs gip taunt. i was wondering what was the great idea was. I used to know but I think that the translation was lost long ago. I guess I’m looking for help with that. all this typing. not really going anywhere, adrift in the time before i sleep. I need a shower too. fresh green hair. that would jack up my couch. I could do it but a shower is an easy thing. Nag Champa red is so very soothing. Not sure why but the sweeter scent just gets me. I need a guide. i can reciprocated in some aspects. blue? I guess I have been pent up a bit lately. I don’t want to scare the natives. They can be restless sometimes. savage and unruly. Dammit I’m hungry,, and more ways than one. mostly food hungry. I lacked that lunch thing again. Sometimes I can’t be bothered with eating, too late to grab something quick. nah, I can wait. I’m good at the waiting. It is quite easy. Don’t question the good stuff. Enjoy it while it is there. I know I have tried. My head feels kind of crunchy, the dye is drying off. Hopefully the color takes a bit better then last time. I tried to catch more of the red undertones that broke their way through the last coat. I wonder that the next color will be. Any suggestions? I know I need a hair cut. Noting major, maybe not. but the shag needs to get cleaned up some. it is a bit ragged. I don’t know how to cut long hair on me. I can do the short and razor action, but the long. out of practice. quack. sha bang. Bad sound effects. I’m losing stream. I think it is just about shower time. This episode of heroes is almost over, a night is called after that. I miss talking to people. I listen a lot now. A definite change over the past few years. I think that comes with the guarded thing. Afraid to come out of this bubble. It scares me sometimes. I have come to grips but i need to have a reason to. The hard lessons can be funny if you get enough distance. Far enough that I can’t remember a sad little smile. Random. What is the color of your love? The one you see when you close your eyes. Anyone want to kidnap me for a vacation. I have time I can take off. Lacking any ideas, and desire to travel alone. Well time to get undressed and into the shower. A nice shower, and finishing it off with some tea tree oil. a dropped on the first potter movie. The main character in the Troll movie was names Harry Potter, and it is also a movie about magic. I have watched a lot of movies and retained a lot of their information. I have a knack for the odd details. The overlooked and un-cherished. It is now 10:45. A few more minutes and I’m out and calling it a night. I’m gonna grab some nuts really quick and finish up. ooh Thats better. Raw nuts are great. I like peppered nuts also. Weird almonds fit nicely in my belly button. 5.1 owls are pretty interesting sound. Listening to a movie is quite interesting. I feel blind. I have a schematic but for a different universe. The two don’t line up. I get confused sometimes.

My Horrorscope for today:
You might feel as if you have been turned inside out, as a current situation won’t match up with your inner feelings. No matter how hard you attempt to make it work, something else keeps coming up to distract you from your goals. Don’t fret about being blocked from reaching your destination, for you might already be exactly where you’re supposed to be.

(Tuesday, September 11, 2007)

Something for Saturdays: Notes from the Dead Letter Office

Dreams like boxcar salamanders
on tracks made of tin, expanding across the horizon
Smoke and sky intermingling, but too polite
parting ways with out a word
walking away with that mystery
never quite enough to question
yet who has the time these days to write Hallmark cards about
“the being of self when faced with mortality”
or my favorite “sorry, you got stabbed by your cell mate”
and if anything follows tonight’s feature
too distracted by the mood
which is set out like a name card at a dinner table
sit down and start dissolving, we are the distinguishing differences
a relative look at unraveling people
without cheating the temptation of time
please continue with your hands in your pockets
but keep in mind that there are…
no lessons to be learned with this tale
or life changing experiences within
for example: the beating heart
a metaphor
simplistic and iconic
an old world god, high on a mountaintop
long forgotten by the same people
who based themselves in their likeness
played by their fancy, made up rules
a game
and as we well all know, the act in engaging in a game results
in a winner
and a loser ( or multiple. Who is really getting fucked here?)
Lost without a connection
in common or with reality:
the common unspoken agreement set by the ruling species.
If you could, Please answer me this:
What is the color red?
A mood?
A sound?
deep inside flowing
growing within everything
(and yeah that too)
but you are really not there, and please stop calling my name
or is it all in my head, induced
Like the itch on the back of your neck, or
the color a room changes when others are in the room to, just…
and just there to, just…
but not like a “just” used in a if type of statement
no, nothing like that.
that nervous “just” that rolls off the tongue
when you might be embarrassed to say
what you really need
is that why we rip apart…
lives and days, through out the coarse of our lives?
To obtain these experiences that add up to something that resembles
Life, spelled backwards, perverted but your meaning of life.
and would trade seconds on the years, of your life to find the answer to that question.
insert answer here:________________________________
Now, take that answer and think of what you would trade to get it back
Bread crumbs, and eggs sitting on walls.
Old tricks of stories, the desired outcome
to let us know, as soft headed children,
To be glad with what you have , and never of what you had
cycles spinning inward, a black hole in the big white everything
breathe in, connected like a child’s crayon scribbles on the bedroom walls
spinning like the rest of us characters in this chapter of this particular book
no beginning, not middle, no end
illusions shared, experienced, and collectively agreed upon,
the truth, the lies, the errors, the corrections
the I’m sorrys, that are never too late to say
but you never can seem to get them out
Swallow that medicine, that poison, that mother’s milk abortion
understand the writing between the lines, between jump rope and sand
the list continues of taboo, fictionalizes, fears
Toys made in china…
underlining chemical reactions, we are talking in the plural here, people
All of this maybe above the national recommended reading level
a generation hooked on spell check
You! In the back raise your hand, so everyone can see you
YES, you. I have see you in the meetings
Always with the creepy hands, that work their way around each other
the story of know without telling, you can smell it in the air
ever so slightly, a twitch, a disturbance
visitors, commonly knock, or some other insert: decadent rant about some random topic
Something that only razor blade would think it was funny
a dull razor that did things
like got a fucking job and voted
what’s wrong with you?
bad 80’s commercials in my noggin
I learned it by watching you…
I took the prescribed moral in the opposite way in my youth.
That was the reason that scarred me away from drugs.
Growing up seeing people with no septum, teeth all flat, swollen hands
Beg, borrow, or steal, wondering why things really haven’t worked out
Is there anyone at fault in this situation,
yes, you over there…
my wife is hurt!
is there a scapegoat in the house?
I’m talking about a home not like a place to only store your shit
most of it memories, or objects justifying your existence
what else then? Would you really die without?
All this conditioning, slick brain made, consumer barely holding onto the grass
trying desperately to not fall off the earth
just a few minutes each day
would you be that missed
beneath your feet every day is a world free to interact with, free of charge
A super sized playground, not some simulated, air conditioned to behave
to slow down, become cooler, slavery of the elements, and ADD children
never to be properly harnessed, to allow growth, polar opposite
retarded, in a mechanical sense, like a choke on a carburetor
wigging out, maybe it is the weather, water, condensation
A compliment to agree to disagree
publicly and privately knotted
Trees transformed into wood made into fences, to keep you out
but it is only the gate to the outside, unfolding messages, pulses that are music
like hips, hooked on a baseline that sway back and forth, snake charmer
in the mist of thieves, a den of jackals, to disrobe you of you strength and fools luck
a prisoner, bricked into his own worst nightmare because he is afraid to sleep
to feel rested, and well approved. Maybe throwing in a little faith
oh yee of little
twenty seven made up minutes later it all changes,
I’m not even going to look back to lick these wounds
these contusions have added up, I don’t mind them any more
they match my shoes
that glassy smile, fish eyed, smoking
laser eyed chrome fantasies, foretold in that shit the he writ
down the rabbit Alice, dove, and never did come out that hole
but I don’t think do? Most like the ease of use…
A BEE Use, a stinger to defend its self from what ever is attacking it
Blind spots in a Technicolor, quadraphonic, representation of your life
all the parts gathered, interviewed, cross examined but
has anything been accomplished, or have we forgotten to check the score board.
home or away, ghost haunting convenient store bathrooms licking the stalls clean
acquiring all the memories smeared on these cockroach traveled highways
a trail of insects, we are the new kid on the block, bigger is not always better
so maybe this is all… ok?
A fermentation of ransom cells and atmosphere that came into existence,
not by random, but by choice.
like a playlist of MP3s for a special occasion, dreams
like a carrot on a string driving Disney cars on tracks, the illusion of control
are you receiving? I am… receiving.
just like any business it will probably be 10-15 working days, for a response
and without fail will get lost in the mail, only to yet again call and repeat the cycle all over again.
Sorry, no breaks given, kiddo. We handed those all out, already.
Soft snickers can be heard as our hero walks away.
This is where the music stops and we put something sad on…
sad but romantic, with hands in yours, forever in those eyes lost happily
locked inside your own head, round and round the tempo is a maelstrom shrunk to the size of a planet.
Becoming tangent rays of light, orbiting particles bent around the sum of existence
only to be extinguished before conception,
the death of ideas, more concrete than ideas, dreams of weight.
A quantum distance, only measured in a lifetime
being poked when no one is there.
scent that triggers response more than taste on the tip of your tongue
casting stones, first. All these reactions are programmed on probable cause
a spontaneous calculation, the big conspiracy,
and the counter intelligence to the opposite.
All this pent up, unable to relax
I thought all this was all supposed to be real?

(Sunday, August 19, 2007)

off like a… Notes from the Dead Letter Office

sharpening snakes with baby’s breath
the slings and arrows, children to adults
head turns, looking back cloaked with experience
but it really doesn’t get any better
than what we have
i am sleeping fighting off wereleaches
these dreams no longer nightmares
just ideas
just visions
just whatever we make of it
I am a stationary nomad.
I can’t stop thinking about…
the could have beens
keeps me up at night
as i shiver in the heat
but these moments pass
between the thing that have to happen
I guess
the number 2
what if one and one doesn’t want to be lumped together
you have no sum
just one and one, separate

(Friday, July 27, 2007)

Unicorns and faith… Notes form the Dead Letter Office

Last night I was hanging out with a good friend and spiritual counsel.
Much talk about perspective of life and love.
We conversed about current/past situations,
about being scared, and trying to over come the fears
that cause us to torture people
as we are trying to protect ourselves and out loved ones.
Also, we spoke of creating a foundation to build a life upon
and how a faulty foundation can easily lead
to failed experiences under our belt.
In a nut shell a lot of healing, and some much need growth.

At one point I watched a 37 year old woman test her faith.
She wanted to write a love letter, the best of all time.
She said she was going to text it to someone.
All she needed was a dictionary and a dart.
I told her I could provide a dictionary, but I was out of darts.
Always half prepared, and always willing
I watched her pray and flip through the small book
with an ancient Toys R Us price tag still attached on the back.
As she wrote down her words for God,
I watched her being brave, and silly.
I chimed in maybe this is just an outline to think upon,
not the actual letter in full.
She looked at me and told me, “what for all the words are in here
if they need to be in the letter they will be.”
I couldn’t argue.
About 31 words later she was done.
She read it out loud.
The scary thing is some of it with out nurturing
made poetic sense.
And in the end, she didn’t send it.

(Thursday, April 05, 2007)