Fill your Breath: Feel a Fool

lilting vocabulary
lift up the night
swinging round silence
and stuck out of sight

soothing these memories
all spoken before
bringing down notepads
surrounding the floor

silky ass stockings
slip off of my thighs
winter whispers of those
chill clinging eyes

stalking this body
i drift so free
i separate my soul
still one with me

movement masks rhythm
pas de trois
one two five
pulsating the aching
knowledge of feeling alive

to be oh so empty
and feel ever so full
fuck, this is your heaven
and losers seek fools

i must follow your breath
white frost hits my air
meeting these eyes
of your wealthy sin's stare

oh you, oh so empty
i be so full
sick of love seeking destruction
so eternally cool
adoring envying outrage
lust falling for school

pretty words race my heartbeat
lest this poor pragmatic sop
move forth, back then forward
damn it - say STOP

sweetly words strung by sentences
fraudulent ring true
fire fighting emotion
they're laughing at you

say, why so empty?
man, how are you full?
with nothing but the words
who serve you up
like a fool.

Hotel Within

I seek a sweetness of soul
somewhere within
each faulty facade
I try passing in

How will I ever know me?

Our bodies of traveling art
saintly, yet sanctuaries for sin
this strolling haven of supposed hipness
oh, come on in

Christ, this hotel's for gypsies
we're all passing on
one day through the other
savoring our song

we flex to life's music
and give to hope's pulse
Roam casting our wishes
throwing our stones

I, careless once more
shaping my future
Watt's stream restored
will this water find its way?

Center isn't far: But Just where

fear stalks you
as a tiger in the bush
can it smell you?

sweat dripping off your nose
staining my chest
burning your image into my skin

like a tattoo on my heart
mistaken and indelible
Inked flesh

there is pain but no pain
tolerance but intolerance
misery but not sorrow

what then is in between

in where is my middle
coming back to center
from all extremes

finding the outside around
waiting and insisting
inside is not sound

In My Day : The Rise of Violence vs. The Lack of Technology

The good old days... Were the good old days really the good old days? Weren't our grandparents' days of yore once nowadays? Hasn't there always been a series of good old days to dream about and point to when the older generation felt that the youngsters were shitting up the world?

"Why in my day... Where's the morals? What kind of music is that?"

Every generation on Earth has heard some ranting version of this in their lifetimes. I imagine that I too, will look back to '08 and intone those very words - AH, the good old days.

But why is that? My journey is to question myself and others. Were these fleeting memories of days past really just that? Did people really live life better ethically? Or is here and now, the end all and be all of times?

I've been having a really big think about this. I started deeply thinking about it all while listening to my ipod, checking my email, and glancing at the caller ID on my Blackberry. I wonder what is the common thread that connects each generation. Answer - Technology.

Just why is walking forty miles in the snow and sleet to reach a one-room schoolhouse in Montana worth moralizing about? Lack of technology. No frigging cars...

***

I mean to focus a study on:

- How the rise of violence compares to the introduction of technology.

- How does the introduction of Television, Internet, Computers, the Telephone, Cellular Phones, Cars, etc. contribute to violent tendencies?

- How does Technology let us further disconnect from society and others while increasing our capacity for violence and decreasing that for empathy.

Should be interesting...

Ok, I'm looking for my diaries today. I have a yen to do this little thing called Mortified. I guess I was inspired. Instead of finding my diaries, I stumbled onto journals filled with writing from as far back as grammar school. And I come to find the same images and themes were in my work even then. I've been searching my whole life I guess for meaning and understanding…

Found a few things that still resonant with me too. Some are just so funny and cliché that I love them to death.

One is this song I wrote for a friend's band. I can vividly remember the night at his house - The guitar, me and Shea. I think I could even figure the tune if I thought about it.

I'm on the road

with my suitcase

stepping lightly

through the dust

of the busstop

still can see your face

from the window

whispering words

I'll remember

You know you're not alone

In the Desert

Searching for a soul

Blood Red Sunsets

Please take me home

Won't you take me home?

It seems like I've been

walking home forever

twisting, falling

always starting down the road

of never feeling

but never, never reaching home

finding home

(interlude)

Will you find me?

Can you find me?

Will you bring me?

Will you bring me home

From the desert

sitting in the road

on my suitcase

no more footsteps

through the dust

waiting at the busstop

for you to bring me home.

And these two poems from frigging years ago when I was sorting thru everything within my head about C. –

Pack My Bags

Can I pack my bags?

If

I'm ready to go?

Too tired to keep

Fighting eternally so…

Could I pack my bags?

And

Set them out on the step

Easy to access as I

Scream through the screen door

Too fond of the silence

Oh, come back for more…

To

Pack my bags

Do I dare take all of my shit?

Plus a little of you

See how I get

Sick of the hurting continually so…

I'm packing my bags.

I'm ready to go.

Closed Doors

You

with your hand all around my heart

You

lie secretly in bed

find the other in your pocket

absentmindedly messing with my head

Yes, you

with your mouth

your lips latched onto my breast

drinking in my passions

while pain is writhing in my chest

And you,

with my soul

screaming through your pores

I'm allowed on the front porch

but never in the door

So

heavy is my heart

lying in your hand

So

weary is my heart

of beating with this man

So

painful is my heart

which no one understands

So

where is my heart?

Please return it if you can.

And then this excerpt… I think it was an exercise in writing a character. I must have picked an actress or some sort of performer to base it on – but I sorta still like the writing:

"Is it hard not being center stage?" they ask me.

"Is it difficult not being the centerfold?"

I look at them and say, "It's hard not being a spectacle."

"Craving the attention, the heat of the lights burning into my skin… The sensation of all eyes on me, commanding the attention of the crowd, demanding even – my star pretense. That attraction between me and my audience, charisma, whatever you call it. I could sure seduce them all one by one or a hundred at a time. Making them feel as if I'd spoken just for them. Spoken their innermost secrets, understood their hidden desires as they sat and worshipped me. The icon, the idol, the body, me. In the end, what was it really about? Truthfully, the spectacle."

"Now, let's get down to business and start discussing why we're doing this right now. That would be the subject, the verb, the noun, all me. Created and set forth by me and you can't argue that ever. Even if I seem vain and conceited, you're still here reading what I put down on paper. And spectacle aside, it's still an entertaining life."

And then I found this which is empowering:

My Rules

1. Rules are to made to be broken if the situation fits except rule # 3.
   
2. Today is not tomorrow. Tomorrow is not Today. Act in the Now. Live in the Now.
   
3. Beware the Moon. Woman shall not make no decisions under the influence of PMS. For one week each month, let no heavy decision be made!
   
4. My thing is my own. I'll share it with whom I please. If I value them and they value me.
   
5. There are too many rules in the world. Make them and then break them as you go along.
   
6. Don't watch Jerry Maguire. It makes me cry every time. That kid is so frigging cute.
   

Haiku Experiment

sun streaming forward

moving my feet onward I

step onto a beam

 

strength, warmth and comfort

flowing inward – fire and light

transcending my soul

 

floating serenely

to reach the heavens above

look down earth and be

 

sitting in moonlight

brushing, caressing my body

beloved by you

 

glowing with the stars

like diamonds strung through the air

lights early evening

 

tickling pink my toes

long blades of waving green grass

the leaves slip beneath

 

welcoming the gaze

eyes drown out night's dreamy haze

drawing me closer

 

glasses of whiskey

burning me with fire below

to quench a desire

 

Finding a pen is today's society is a little harder than I thought. I couldn't find my pen when I got to the airport on Monday. So I figure I'll just buy a pen at the sundries store. Shouldn't it be that easy? Well good luck to all of you fellow penless folk. Good luck at locating a pen out there. I tried the sundries store. No good. I tried the bookstore. Nada. I was getting pretty desperate. My thoughts were moving towards liberating a pen from some poor unsuspecting fool.

Oh lord, lead me unto a pen. A simple fountain of ink I ask for, that is all. I intoned my prayer searching the seats beside me at Gate 30. Alas, my prayers are raised up to deaf ears or God keeps bankers hours? I'm kind of leaning towards the latter. I would if I was God. I mean, you're God. You shouldn't have to be up @ 5 am for prayers.

And back to it…

The only store I haven't checked yet is The Children's Fairyland Stand. Hmmm… Lo and behold, a pen. Albeit, a pen topped with a flamingo or a parrot and costing all of $6.00. Six dollars for a pen? Damn! And a pretty outrageous pen at that. Apparently, pens are only for children now and the only way to get them interested is a high price and foolish packaging.

Do you remember when pens were the arena of adults? I most decidedly recall getting punished for running off with my dad's pens. I was enthralled by pens. They seemed so special. They weren't like pencils. If you wrote in pencil, it could be erased. It could disappear and be forgotten. But with a pen, with a pen you were immortal. You could leave your mark and never take it back. I'm sure I left my mark a few places that I wasn't supposed to. I wasn't formerly allowed to use a pen until Junior High. I thought it was going to be an exciting moment but erasable ink was invented… And so pens became like pencils, just more colorful.

Now, the pen has become the computer, the handheld device, the blackberry, the iphone. Device trumps pen. Pen becomes pencil. I miss the pen's influence.

Next victim, paper?