[Dream]

All these worries in my head:
Will I make it? 
How will I get there?
Does it even really matter
if i was ever here at all?

I'll feel guilty for distractions;
so much more out there
to care about.
But what can one man really do
for people starving in the streets,

but bump a line, increase the numbness,
remember how pointless all this bullshit is,
keep living my damn, fucked up life,
look back in the mirror, and do my hair?

And so tonight, we'll have a party.
We'll get drunk on brandy
and some cheap champagne.
There'll be smiles all around because
we know there's no winning this race we run.

My head will swim with wild love
for all this youthful, careless understanding,
'til I look over to the corner
and see him standing there with her.

And just the sight will be enough
to remind me
of the emptiness.
I'll grit my teeth and bear it
remembering: you can't lose what you never even had.

Oh, what will be there
when I wake up tomorrow?
Will I be a stronger man?
Oh, will I grow?
Will I ever even repay
what I owe?
Sometimes I don't think I'll make
it on my own.
Guess I'll never really find out
'til I turn and go.

All these worries in my head:
Will I make it? 
How will I get there?
Does it even really matter
if i was ever here at all?

I'll feel guilty for distractions;
so much more out there
to care about.
But what can one man really do
for people suffering in the streets?


June - August (The Last Month)

Fast lives leave no time for modesty.
We witnessed a flower in bloom
and embarrassed by the honesty,
simply blushed and left the room.
In exultation, I revealed too much
out of fear of wasted youth.
What fools we are, the both of us-
so blind, but for the truth.

I should have had more faith.
Betrayed by my own emotions-
I threw it on the table, calling my own bluff.
Threw myself before the judge, jury and executioner
to testify in defense of a truth and beauty
which I had always claimed non-existent
out of ignorance and numbing detachment.

Please forgive the person I was before.
I know it shouldn't matter anyways.
My mistakes may have lead me to where I am now,
Regrets and fear will no longer dictate where I'm going.
I will walk with my back straight and my head held high.
I will twist my hips. I will blow a kiss. I will start a fight.
I will no longer fear chance nor consequence.

Shot my mind wide open and out
for the psychoanalytics-
who swear they can read through the mess and
tangled webs of lies.

They will try and tell the whole truth:
that I've spent too much time
with my nose to the skies, to the books, to the lines
and I've done too many of those too.

They said: you've fed too much on your soul
and not enough to the kick drum.
They said: you're high enough on your way to the goal
but don't forget about the kick drum.

Cut myself wide open and up
on a stage for an audience of one
and i swore that we knew it for a love
that was true.

He will turn to look away and explain
there's nothing i can do
for the weight in your heart. Now get down off that cross
and get me off this damn pedestal too.

He said: you've fed too much on your soul
and not enough to the kick drum.
He said: you're high enough on your way to the goal
but don't forget about the kick drum.

So my eyes were wide open and wet
with a new understanding
faith and purpose so strong that it can't be shaken but by me.
Who knows maybe one time once more.

I will try and tell the whole truth:
help you see that you're hooked
with your nose to the screen, your eyes to the scene and those life magazines
but hey we're sheep and we need them.

We just don't gotta be them.

I'll say you've sat for the lies too much
and not enough for the kick drum.
I'll say that you're all blind to the touch
so don't forget about the kick drum.

I said: you've fed too much on your soul
and not enough to the kick drum.
 I said: you're high enough on your way to the goal
but don't forget about the kick drum.

 Because I've been wrong every time before, I never wanted to tell you this. I guess i was afraid that the thoughts and feelings would get lost in the words translations. it was so vivid that i couldn't ever forget it, although i'm starting to believe that it would be best if i did now.

we lay there in the misty morning light that shone through despite the intensity of our golden summer skin. i open my eyes to catch each ray that slips through the cracks in the blinds and beckons my focus to the world beyond my windows, but true beauty lays in bed with me. there is a chill in the air that makes me shiver despite the warmth of your arm over my chest, and your body pressed close behind mine. I smile because nothing outside those arms could ever keep me as warm. However, I knew i couldn't truly appreciate anything from this angle, so I gently slip from your grasp to get up and watch you there off and adrift in the depths of a dream. peaceful. the suns rays travel across the landscape of your body that rises and falls with each deep breath. I believe God must have created the world with this subtle sense of perfection in mind. Yet, I know that this happiness was never meant to be mine. there was never a place for me in this master plan and so i make for the door before you open your eyes and say, "You don't have to leave. I want you to stay here with me." So I fall. I fall back in your arms to watch the sun and moon rise and fall for ages outside my window. Outside the warmth and safety of my room.

I could have spent ages in that moment.

I want to believe that there's a force at work that's bigger than anything i could fathom. I want to believe this is why the universe drew us together. I want to believe that it's because we are dreamers.

I suppose it's harder to see things as they really are with eyes wide shut at the most truthful of moments. It's as if we were traveling in circles with a counter rotation. I was born too old and growing younger by the minute. You were born too young and growing older all the time. Maybe, someday, the circles will meet. Maybe, somewhere along the middle.

im looking at my last post and laughing at the weak me.

"no we're not gonna call anyone on their shit tonight. Even though the half of you won't even smile the next time we pass on the street"
maybe somehow this scam will still save us all...

maybe i'm giving myself too much credit but,
isn't it enough that i'm already out of your life? please don't try to pull me back in just for a fight. i figured we have enough respect for each other to be mature about shit. besides, i've been trying really hard to be civil when in fact i'm really hiding venom beneath my tongue and i never mind having to spit some bitter truth because as we already learned, i don't regret too much for people who hurt me or wanna strip my pride. so let's keep it simple: be nice, be silent, or be gone.

I wish I had focus.
I wish I had drive.
I wish I had confidence.
I wish I had the strength to move on my own.
I wish I wasn't so fucked up.

you sit down at the table. your eyes burn bright. a knowing smile lightly lifts your lips.

flashback:
scene setting: empty streets, brightest night, pouring rain.
my back against the wall with you holding my hands above my head with one hand, the other on my chest.
your lips on my mouth. anything to keep me from breaking the silence.
you break the kiss knowing i want to scream, but couldn't if i tried.
i feel your breath on my neck, on my ear.
two words: spread 'em. and i'm a puddle on the floor.

god damnit! snap out of it.
i'm back with you at the table, now filled with contempt.
color me defeated.
you were beating me at my own game, and you knew it.
you were having your cake and eating it too.

its such a turn on. then again, i'm such a glutton for pain.
i cant help but think, 'every fucking man i fall for..'

there is a jealous sea.
everyone takes a dip when things get hot.
[even i am guilty]
but envy green was never my color.

in the end only you can let yourself down.
shine on you crazy diamond.

[authors note: listened to a lot of blood brothers at the time of this posts conception.]




  Driving up and down the same street where we first made it, I stare out the passenger side window of the car in which I'm seated and think, 'if i were to simply let go, will my body roll into a position possible for my corpse to kiss the concrete?'
    He takes a drag from his cigarette and exhales through the open window into the indian summer nights breeze. I smell cyanide and arsenic disguised by the charm and sophistication he excretes from his skull, and I'm not sure which is making me sick. His words were as poisonous as the smoke from his lungs, though now none were spoken. The silence was almost poetic.
    When i finally notice we've left the familiar streets for a hilltop parking lot, the engine stops and he starts. I'm completely unaware of his kiss and caress as my focus is drawn upon the city lights far below. They are our audience and all eyes are on me. This act is now art and I am completely immersed in the role of lover. The willing victim.
    His hand on my thigh shifts and grabs "my attention". I turn to face his gaze and his lips meet my forehead, my nose, my lips. A sudden intake of air passes through my teeth as I feel the sharp shiny cold cross my neck. His cut-throat kiss. It's too much to bear and my eyes roll back into my head far enough to read my mind.
    My brain, a screen showing memories of liquor stores and rain storms. Autumn leaves and dying trees. I see the empty wine bottles scattered about and I'm naked face down on his bed. He'd only stop rubbing my shoulders long enough to cut and bump a line off the small of my back. The closeness, all some sort of subtle intricacy. An intangible paradox all playing in black and white to accentuate any sort of 1920s noir romance.
    End scene. Fade to black/ cut to:
    Me curled up in the passenger seat. He's driving us back home, we're both so spent. I look up in time to see the headlights hurling themselves into our vehicles path. Like I'd always wished, my body flies through windshield glass only to come to a rest on the now blood spattered pavement beneath me. As I feel the blood and life leave my body, I whisper, "Liar, liar."
    Incidentally, it's him and the rest of the car that's on fire.
    Long after the paramedics arrive on the scene, the next of kin are contacted. That is when you'll discover that no matter how much someone loves you, they'll always step away from a collecting pool of your blood.

    We can all become broken. In such a state a ripple can cause a wave that will consume you. There are two types of crutches that the broken use to support themselves. One productive, the other destructive.
    We can tear ourselves open, but the emotions tied to the gesture get lost in the translation of blood and guts. EMERGENCY! This procedure isn't necessary. Neither lifesaving nor threatening. We create trauma and wonder why there's widespread panic.. or none at all. If the latter occurs we sew up sutures, shut up and move on.
    We can find find refuge in numbing ourselves in escapism, Inhaling dirty thrills with dollar bills, but In time we drift off too close to the edge. Others fall off completely.  In order to tune in, we tune out. Lost to the static of blissful ignorance. 
    The procedure of vanity and the shelter of synthetics are illustrations of the bad.
    My soul is searching for balance and strength from the sacred silence; singing praises to the starry steeple above. I hope to join the compassionate seeking education and awareness to right man's wrongs and shape the future. I am thankful for the nurturing and patient who offer unconditional love and support, those who give life and will see you through to the end. These are instances of the good.


There are those who have character and those who have a character to play.
Some go through youth silent, though they too have their say.

Because my engines jumped the tracks,
I'll take the wheel of my destiny.
I wont watch my book write itself.
Get up artist! You author! Rewrite history!

There are times you just have to dive down the mountain and dig your own path.
Some people travel with lighter loads and others with burdens on their back.
Either way you come out stronger.  

Everyone will sometime be overcome by time and nature.
Every journey is a small step in something much larger.
The world doesn't need us to continue, but we do.

 

Spill your words.
Let the thoughts and phrases pour
from your lips.
I thirst for every idea
like a dusty wanderer.
Every well for miles is poison,
but your words are pure;
fed from the soul's cistern, the heart's spring.
Look kindly on me and spare one drop
unto my tumbleweed mind.
Spill your words and I will drink you in.