I used to see a headless thing that walked across the room & touched the statue of a little girl nuzzled in the hands of God, and then it would sit in the rocking chair till almost dawn. I called it No Head On, because it was headless, but it could have been the style of jacket. I have no idea what that was but it cost me a lot of sleep. I wouldn’t sleep until it came by and left. For a time I thought I’d wake my Mom and show her to see if she could see it too, but she’d only wake to see the rocking chair moving & figured it was wind. When the thing itself was there you were paralyzed. Not in fear. Just paralyzed. I feared that thing something awful.

I made my Mom throw out the statue of the little girl & God.

Posted: February 8th, 2008 under Prose.
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I was swimming in a large pool of deep blue water when a voice echoed out of nowhere to tell me that: “Swimming is only for fans of the wasp, and friends of the bee.” When I looked up a couple of them had fallen into the water, and I surfaced to splash them out of the water to dry when many more dive bombed into the pool. Then I was at the bottom of the pool in a meditive position legs crossed with my hands on my knees when the voice sounded again, and told me to look up. When I did I saw the surface of the water was drenched black with the bees and wasps. The voice told me it wasn’t safe to surface, and that I should stay below. It told me that if I was someone else like the fans of wasps, or friends of bees, I would have been safe from their sting, but I was not, and I was out of my place. I argued to the voice that I’d likely run out of breath down there, but it told me that I know how to stay below just fine, and that I’d done it before. I had a quick memory flash of when I was a child and had pools, how I’d just sit at the bottom of the water messing with whatever I brought down with me. Avoiding the other children who played rough or trivialized the dream sequence that is the motion of water. When I looked up for the last time of the dream, I saw that the bees, and the wasps… could swim.

Posted: February 8th, 2008 under Dreams, Prose.
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Soft flesh of a baby raped with murder and hate. It awakens the searching soul to find nothing is accountable for such an occurrence other then the sickness that touches this earth. It’s a force, fierce and beyond our cerebral comprehension but known to us just as well as we are born knowing the use of water, or our Mother’s breast. It is the thing we fear when we turn off the lights, and the thing we fear seeing growing in the dark of our most beloved when they begin to change. Of course it also comes for us, and even whilst in denial we turn a violent eye to it. We try to stamp it out like a cockroach after the contents of our kitchens, just so that we might prolong our current rest in whatever fools paradise we might be in at the time. Yet the back of our minds will never let us forget that it is there, for it curls it’s tendrils around something in our fleeting mortal lives every second we can be ailed to blink, and overtakes it’s vessel. Sometimes forever. Sometimes for just enough time too…

The harshness of the bleating rays of the day became like poison in my veins that delivered me anew into the perfect unweighted balance of the twilight when the darkness began to take hold in my womb.

Split and solipsistic. The deep well of caliginosity in which to drink, as well as a forbidding manifest of lambent bleating pools of illumination that the thirstiest of low wrung desperate spirits come to fill their mouth with when nothing else can be found.

I stumbled upon the Sacred, sparingly splintered across our cracking earth in the miracles of anomaly and spirit. I felt the sun de novo, not as a foe that eats away my skin whilst slowly summoning death to me, but as a parlor of God upon my shoulders holding me in some sort of sweet aquarium of what could pass for… blissful normalcy.

Although the glass had long shattered, and the sweet water poured out onto dirty piss soaked floors with it’s coveted fish…. for what felt to be one evanescent moment, one snatch of a singular sequence of time jointing for the lovely in my small mind, it’s momentary warmth devoid of disdain has lasted me greatly in the years of the Arctic Winter of my life that found me once again, since.

It will surely strip the flesh right off your sorry bones… and I’ve fallen into the night again as The Moon has never betrayed me like The Sun.

Posted: February 8th, 2008 under Prose.
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What if I went
Someplace, you know,
Someplace where I was
The stranger.
What if I went someplace
Where I was nothing
But a shadow
To them.
What if they…

Posted: February 8th, 2008 under Poetry.
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You would choose the bastard sun over the
Moon and leave me behind alone with the
Remaining stars twinkling beautifully in
The sky ignorant in their conscienceless
Silence, or their enlightened sleep to
Join the dull in their daily parades of
Ham Sandwich parties and denial…
It’s not as safe in the light and in carefully carved systems
As one might feel. It is downright soul raping,
And dangerous to all that will really matter
In The End.

Posted: February 8th, 2008 under Poetry.
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I’m scared of you
Blue trembling dawn
What will your sun bestow on me?
Is my skin bare canvas to paint cancers upon
Will they be too bright to see?
Your shine is cold but it burns my flesh
My hair bows down to thee
My stomach churns
And my heart caves in
Only God, knows what the darkness brings.

Written during the last two weeks of the last two months of waiting for the Manic Abuse sustained during the final hours. Via sidekick to two of my best friends, and my Mom.

Posted: February 8th, 2008 under Poetry.
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With shadows of oceans on walls and
Old checkered leathered summers scathed
I find myself foreign.
The minnows have reached the surface,
The boughs of trees stretch their long fingers
In the cold December winds
Towards my borrowed window and
I wonder of the future,
Of loyalties that died preserved in memory tins,
Holding within its contents useless tears of joy
One moment at a time my feet sweep uncharted
Grace in a Country I never thought I’d travel.
Yet, I am here and the sights are already in decay.
We are all in decay, black lunged and tired.
Timeworn manipulations wait for trial as each
Day revolves around mere survival.
My strength deepens,
The earth writhes, just a little.
And I am won.
My world blurs,
My soul fights to reconstitute,
And I am one.

Posted: February 8th, 2008 under Poetry.
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A love so pure,
It will break your bones
Open up your soul
And put its contents on display.
For a deranged audience
To make their own.
A love so old,
It will strip your flesh
And leave you alone
An unstuffed toy
A blanket secret aged
A starlight induced lunacy
Letters left to burn
Lyrics marked and cut
Sentiments that will not die
With a thrown up ashtray
With a terror dream
With a Northern winds magic
In a rain soaked velvet and metal faith
Or a sick man’s desperation
And time
An enemy
Making hours long
Lingering rotten and marked for cancer
With fake snow, and unmarked stockings
That are supposed to take the place
Of a constructed family in reminiscence
Of the ghosts of things long done and gone.
There is shit on the walls
On those fake smiling striped walls,
And hot blood in my veins.
Boiling and caged.
I lay unheard
Forgotten,
Shades of pasts left to fester,
Remnants of happiness turned to torture.
Stories too destructive and beautiful to be told
Take their last rasps of breath
Knocking around and twisting,
So intrinsically deep inside me,
And Death holds my hand
It asks me to let go
And I find something to hold onto
An object they make me,
A moment imagined,
Ignoring the whispers pleading my mercy…
I am blind
I am sick
And I am left
An old stench
That cannot be scrubbed out
With barbed wire soap,
With weak blasts of steam,
Or the laughing fires of Hell.
In the belly of Nothing,
I haunt
Those mocking halls
The caged rabbit,
The scheduled fireplace,
And the frightened birds.
I hold on,
To hands that know me as a burden
I hold on,
To remember
A love so pure
It could break your bones
A love so pure
It’s sticks and stones.
***
“Love humiliates you, hatred cradles you”- White Oleander

Posted: February 8th, 2008 under Poetry.
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The bleach you scrubbed upon that floor, all the polishes and the wax, will not save you from what lies beneath it, the places you’ve always said you couldn’t reach but really had just avoided…

With your weary arm reach through those cracks in those old rotten floorboards, through the feathered cobwebs abandoned by once poisonous spiders long passed away (for even poison dies with the exception of what we choose to carry with us).

Through all that seeped in dust of old skin left behind to stink, to coat the present day symbols in your life, break through and find those old video tapes.
Make sure you’ve surfaced them all, and that there isn’t one left forgotten in dust, in webs, in chipped wood whittled away, timeworn, and fallen. For this unpleasant work must be done…
And on an old VCR, and a Television just recently antiqued watch the magnetic ghosts of what has been hidden away for way too long.
Watch once.
Watch twice.
Watch one thousand times, but when you are done erase them.

Then the static will take their place with a scream, a comforting digital goodbye, and shadows of images of once upon a time realities are now merely nothing more than daydreams and nightmares that will vaporize and return to the compact filing cabinet in your mind. There they will reside for what they are worth, for what they were supposed to be there for in the first place… returned from the dust and the clutter and the physical residue of the sticky mess that is love, that is emotion, that is life.

For if you think the imprints will surely kill you, that is when it is the most important to remember, and when you have made your peace with them, the release will see you stronger then before… If you plan on sticking around this circus for whatever reason… you will immediately see the value of the ordeal.
Of the tapes
Retrieved for just a moment to be remembered,
and then erased…

I will not wish anyone a Happy New Years Eve this year…
If anything I hope it is quiet.
I hope it is reflective, and I hope you put away those lost digital ghosts to
Make room for a better tomorrow, and the prospect of new moments.
For life is as infinite as it is fleeting and short, and within those things we lock away are often the most valuable of lessons and tools to make those long never ending moments sweeter.

Go stare at the stars at Midnight tonight… and say your goodbyes to yesterday, and wave in the unknown soon to be discovered. Throw away your resolutions, and your agendas and know that you cannot know, and value the beauty in that.

I’ll think of you all when the old stars shine new again full of promise, and danger. I’ll think of you all when I go to bed, and some of you, I’ll wave goodbye to in a wave of white noise and static, that is, as you once existed to me.

And even if you don’t sort through all those old videotapes, or take a moment tomorrow to quietly reflect, I’m sure you’ll do naturally very much the same as I, maybe, perhaps, even without full awareness or understanding of it.

Whilst I will not wish anyone a Happy New Years Eve….
I will wish you, a good night.
So then, goodnight my friends and enemies, whoever you are that finds this.
Goodnight.

Posted: February 8th, 2008 under Prose.
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Antique rain fostering the last minutes of the night
As anxious dogs hidden away in some festering crevice let out blasts
Of lonely sounds of fear and disapproval.
I stop and watch an unidentifiable animal cross the city street rotting
In it’s own indulgence, and wonder of it’s fate.

I came across my car, and thought about the moon
How it will be a symbol of something beautiful to this race of men
Long after it is gone
If they can sustain their lives on this bowl of savage dust long
Enough to even see it go.

There has always been something about a city street
In the earliest hours when you know you are standing
Side by side with millions of lives lived that have now gone
But will always linger where traces of it have pressed
And you can almost feel death standing beside you wetly warm
Stroking your hair with It’s little winds
Promising painless release and maybe even a sub par
Brand of Immortality for you…

Someday.
Maybe soon.
Maybe…

Don’t be afraid it only hurts for a second…
Then you are…

Slammed against a wall, lightening shakes up the blood.

I know then I will make it home to dream in codes I will never have the blessing to cypher.
I know I will live long enough to realize how non relative this very moment is
In it’s unsafe, profound Infinity.

You could kill someone, and wake to think it was nothing but a dream. For life
is so intangible that dreams and memories collide into a mural you one day may
not be able to tag correctly anymore. Much like the people with Alzheimer’s Disease
that think the Andy Griffith show was a shade of their fond past.. not the rape in the
Alley that took their soul away for 10 years in 1943.

Yes, but Hauntings are a funny thing. The way our brains have been programmed to eat at us…
Yet why would we fight our damned fates so when we tell ourselves the unknown is so restful? Much like the ocean slowly wearing at the shore day after day… touching it as a lover whilst it steals it away inside of itself, greedily in a perpetual twisted dark love.
It must be that x factor
Dripping from every living soul is the question that we Live to answer (maybe experience) but only answer in our demise.

Trash cans shutter, and a chill runs through my back.
People so hungry they will gnaw the remainders of the poverty stricken’s dollar menu leavings.
I should go home…

but the freeway is there.

To sleep and wake in another world when 42 planes drop into the sea, with cars and SUV’s filled with Soccer Mom’s with their head split open like hacked up water melons. Where little plastic toys still smiling up naively at the sky float away
Into a black world where most hope is lost and I will dive in to drag the living to shore carefully avoiding dangerous rusty debris
As my medic friends patch them up
And later, I will try to buy my childhood home from a Best Friend whom was
Sad to inform me they had to surround the neighborhood with a metal casing to regulate the temperatures and turn it into a condominium but YES
It still was the same place inside,
It’s face has just Changed.

Or maybe I will just watch the shadows cross the walls
Until I hear the world rush by hopped up on caffeine and (mostly)
Stupid fruitless insignificant plans riddled with delusion and painted
So wholly by “good intention”. I will wait for the sun to filter in and
Chase away my dark friends and I will turn my eyes away from the light
In shame
To rest
To wait
For the darkness to cover me up again.

Posted: February 8th, 2008 under Prose.
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