Wishes are Granted for a Price: Notes from the Dead Letter Office

I can’t seem to love
My consumed apprehension
Filled with every trope
too close to the sun.

Come back… it’s all over now.
I’ve done so much with so much less
Can’t seem to get clean.

Nightmares once dreams
as Lucifer once angel
Never to be forgiven
returned to the shelf of grace.

Hit me with everything, give me all ya got
It’s not your fault
There is nothing left to fight.
…and it tastes just like

Before others there was home
out there configured, cataloged
1995 summer edition
with a power all it’s own
mistook, maligned
calling out lip-less.
976 popcorn
show stoppers.

I’m fine said the wolves
dragging you down
unraveling distant echos
of men built on the framework
of children’s conformity.

Repeat, rewind fluid destroy
to keep me close
cold, uneven cloaked enveloped
rational unclean, absorbed intrusion
inject once empty
fluid dynamics.

We adore only to destroy
whispers do wonders
ponders paths obsolete
panders sweet ego
greedy little piggy
undisputed reciprocal
shit diamond cherry pickers.

Things we can’tt say
Baby on board stickers
Traffic jammers and crammers.



…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)

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…


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
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
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
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

(Tuesday, August 08, 2006)