“Argumentative, Then Pensive” (2011)
I tug at the battered walls of a shoreline department store
Dripping with the remnants of an unrelenting battering ram,
Buckling under the weight of a culture fixated on the material.
I left a candle to burn and put a fire out with my voice.
Hoarse with my forced expulsion of personal will upon the flame,
I lean back and close my eyes; argumentative, then pensive.
The department store topples, the flame rages on;
I survive just to see the shadow widen around me
Again and again for all eternity.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Or "Hindsight."
Molly Farrell wanted me to dedicate a poem to her, or to at least write one for her. So, here you go. It's not about you, but it is a poem. Enjoy!
I am
The Argument.
Combative but pensive,
I come not to kill but to remove.
Killing is an act of gross overstatement;
The exclamation point to a declaration of blind passion.
I offer, instead, to wedge an idea into your brain rather than a bullet;
And ignorance in exchange for the brain matter and shattered skull fragments leaving your head.
I am an aggressor, not of wills and demands, but of provocation and suggestion.
Intellectuality, sir, sings the death knell of feeble minds, not pointed sticks.
By that line of reason, this handgun should not be against your forehead.
But you are the feeble mind. You are the one I have come to destroy.
If you continue to resist me, I only become stronger, more firm in my conviction.
I am the relentless engine of progress, and you are tied to the tracks.
I am the unflinching, unwavering, uncompromising reality.
I am the realization that you were always wrong.
Today, everything you think you know
Will be blown from the back of your head.
I am
The Future.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
It takes a lot to get me to start writing again
“The Destination Isn’t Much Better” (2011)
Standing in the way.
Sitting on the floor:
Palms up,
Head down.
Standing in the way;
Lying in bed.
Face up,
Eyes open.
Standing in the way
In front of an over-eager traveler
On a road to disappointment,
Carried by best intentions.
Standing in the way,
I could never feel
More like a heartbreaking
Bastard.
Standing in the way.
Sitting on the floor:
Palms up,
Head down.
Standing in the way;
Lying in bed.
Face up,
Eyes open.
Standing in the way
In front of an over-eager traveler
On a road to disappointment,
Carried by best intentions.
Standing in the way,
I could never feel
More like a heartbreaking
Bastard.
I really do feel this way.
“My Art: A Statement” (2010)
Willful, waiting, yearning for it.
I’m lying on the precipice with an epiphany in sight,
Face-down in the dirt with my eyes just over the edge,
Paralyzed and wordless,
The motivation to frighten, to terrorize is blowing past my nostrils
Like a hot plume of ash from the pustules of the earth.
Something natural, something inevitable
Is welling up inside me.
I have suddenly found envy in an earthquake’s ability to seize attention unto itself,
Or a blackout’s ability to fling anyone into a panic.
The fear of death is the ultimate fear,
An instinctive aversion that aggressively commands human physiology in order to ensure survival.
Yet, few know this fear in suburban society;
Instead, there is a fear of the dead, a fear of the presence of death.
I need to harness this,
To horrify,
To awaken,
To allow people to come to terms with their mortality,
Not through the cross, the bread, or the wine,
Not through the fear of God,
But through the discomfort inherent in the company of corpses, isolation, and the unknown.
To inspire a newfound value in life,
And to reinstate a respect for the dead.
This is my mission.
Perhaps it is ambitious,
But isn’t life about ambition?
Willful, waiting, yearning for it.
I’m lying on the precipice with an epiphany in sight,
Face-down in the dirt with my eyes just over the edge,
Paralyzed and wordless,
The motivation to frighten, to terrorize is blowing past my nostrils
Like a hot plume of ash from the pustules of the earth.
Something natural, something inevitable
Is welling up inside me.
I have suddenly found envy in an earthquake’s ability to seize attention unto itself,
Or a blackout’s ability to fling anyone into a panic.
The fear of death is the ultimate fear,
An instinctive aversion that aggressively commands human physiology in order to ensure survival.
Yet, few know this fear in suburban society;
Instead, there is a fear of the dead, a fear of the presence of death.
I need to harness this,
To horrify,
To awaken,
To allow people to come to terms with their mortality,
Not through the cross, the bread, or the wine,
Not through the fear of God,
But through the discomfort inherent in the company of corpses, isolation, and the unknown.
To inspire a newfound value in life,
And to reinstate a respect for the dead.
This is my mission.
Perhaps it is ambitious,
But isn’t life about ambition?
I've been deeply influenced by Performance Art and David Lynch
This was supposed to be center justified, but Blogger is being stubborn. Just imagine it as such.
It is not in my position to wander around with a concept of place, purpose, time, or being.
I know what I know through the collective assumptions of the men who walked before me.
Or crawled.
The discoveries of a child fresh from the womb are just as integral to the evolution of mankind as the musing of an old man staring death in the face.
WET WITH PLACENTA
Unassuming and completely void of any preconceived notions,
The infant is the purest form of humanity.
Precarious, it clings to whatever surrogate mother will provide some semblance of love.
(In the most general terms, of course.)
YES, OF COURSE, YOU WOULD. YOU ARE AND HAVE ALWAYS BEEN A PICTURE OF CYNICISM.
Ahem.
Without the prejudice of a man fearing for the dominance of his own race, a child is man unshaped, unformed, malleable and impressionable.
We could—but have not—form from this blank slate a superior human being, one that accepts all men as his brother and all women as his sister, wanting nothing more than to unite the human race for one common goal.
CREAKING WITH SENTIMENTALITY
Stop.
Now consider yourself as a monster, one born from a lineage of such.
They call themselves leaders, they call themselves heroes, they call themselves artists.
But they are all beasts, clawing for your soul.
To consume you, this is the beast’s only desire.
This beast called man, however, is no fool, contrary to popular opinion.
In fact, it is quite clever.
The fool is the one who follows these beasts into the forest only to be devoured.
YOU TWISTED, SORDED MAN. YOU ARE THE MONSTER, YOU ARE THE BEAST. SHUT THE HELL UP.
I will not. I will not.
I will not.
I will not.
I will not.
I will not.
I will not.
Where was I…?
This one is kind of strange, but I felt like sharing it
“Kids These Days” (2010)
What, if not the words of rebellion
Do occupy the tongue of youth?
While grey-haired capitalism
Bears down on the flailing counter-culture
And underground musings of a shifting people
Searching endlessly for individualism
(Yet ironically as a coherent whole)
The eyes of youth turn to antitheses and antagonists
And plant them as flags on the turf of a generation.
Of course, the magnifying glass in front of wrinkled eyes
Hones in on what once defined a certain few
In order to market it to the general masses.
Bell bottoms, skateboards, punk rock, hip hop—
Seizing them kicking and screaming from their tumultuous birthplaces,
The geriatric robber barons of popular culture
Scrub down the less-than-desirables
And prepare to ship a centralized movement of youth culture
From the streets to the shopping aisles.
Marvel at the living museums of over-marketed legends
Who last flirted with relevancy more than a decade ago!
Cheer as powerful movements once led by the youth
And scorned by the church
Now clean up their act for a religious audience!
Come one! Come all, to the Greatest Show on Earth!
Today only! And for the rest of time!
Witness the Homogenization of Rebellion!
The Regression of Outspoken Youth into the Greater Culture!
BUY! BUY! BUY!
What, if not the words of rebellion
Do occupy the tongue of youth?
While grey-haired capitalism
Bears down on the flailing counter-culture
And underground musings of a shifting people
Searching endlessly for individualism
(Yet ironically as a coherent whole)
The eyes of youth turn to antitheses and antagonists
And plant them as flags on the turf of a generation.
Of course, the magnifying glass in front of wrinkled eyes
Hones in on what once defined a certain few
In order to market it to the general masses.
Bell bottoms, skateboards, punk rock, hip hop—
Seizing them kicking and screaming from their tumultuous birthplaces,
The geriatric robber barons of popular culture
Scrub down the less-than-desirables
And prepare to ship a centralized movement of youth culture
From the streets to the shopping aisles.
Marvel at the living museums of over-marketed legends
Who last flirted with relevancy more than a decade ago!
Cheer as powerful movements once led by the youth
And scorned by the church
Now clean up their act for a religious audience!
Come one! Come all, to the Greatest Show on Earth!
Today only! And for the rest of time!
Witness the Homogenization of Rebellion!
The Regression of Outspoken Youth into the Greater Culture!
BUY! BUY! BUY!
Most recent. Sorry for the drought.
“Achluophobia” (2009)
Call into the void.
The silence momentarily shatters;
Voices bouncing off walls
Back and forth and off into the distance,
Away and away,
And the silence resumes.
Like an unflinching statue,
Like a monument to the unknown,
Darkness lay before you.
Sample its bitterness,
Twist and cringe in its anxiety.
Call again.
No answer.
Fall to your knees.
Only the clatter of your defeat rings out.
Immovable,
Impassible,
Fate and destiny lay beyond.
Or perhaps the darkness is not an abyss,
But a stone for you to carve and shape
Rather than a fog to clear?
Call into the void.
The silence momentarily shatters;
Voices bouncing off walls
Back and forth and off into the distance,
Away and away,
And the silence resumes.
Like an unflinching statue,
Like a monument to the unknown,
Darkness lay before you.
Sample its bitterness,
Twist and cringe in its anxiety.
Call again.
No answer.
Fall to your knees.
Only the clatter of your defeat rings out.
Immovable,
Impassible,
Fate and destiny lay beyond.
Or perhaps the darkness is not an abyss,
But a stone for you to carve and shape
Rather than a fog to clear?
I was political. Once.
“Patriotism (It‘s Like Actually Being There!)” (2009)
Under the hallowed flag I have seen the meaning of
Freedom,
Under the foreign boot I have learned the meaning of
Privilege,
And certainly against the cold barrel of a gun I have learned the value of
Silence.
Corners harbor darkness to hide the weak and uninspired,
Like a covered wagon through a battlefield.
Provide me safety!
Provide me shelter!
Let me emerge when the smoke has cleared!
View the bombings through my
Fingers,
Watch the warfare through a
Screen,
Distance is a comfort
To the inert revolutionary.
Under the hallowed flag I have seen the meaning of
Freedom,
Under the foreign boot I have learned the meaning of
Privilege,
And certainly against the cold barrel of a gun I have learned the value of
Silence.
Corners harbor darkness to hide the weak and uninspired,
Like a covered wagon through a battlefield.
Provide me safety!
Provide me shelter!
Let me emerge when the smoke has cleared!
View the bombings through my
Fingers,
Watch the warfare through a
Screen,
Distance is a comfort
To the inert revolutionary.
An old one (but a good one?)
"Erosion" (2008)
Wipe away my shadow
Wash it clean with soap and water
Watch it run down the driveway
Little rivers, little back stories
Won't run their mouths anymore
I'll shove you into the landslide
Break your bones beneath the boulders
Watch you scream and watch you shout
Turn away and leave my shadow
Out to dry
Turning to face the sun
To chase the light as it burns brighter
My shadow stretches ever longer
Erosion sets in
To wash you all away
Wipe away my shadow
Wash it clean with soap and water
Watch it run down the driveway
Little rivers, little back stories
Won't run their mouths anymore
I'll shove you into the landslide
Break your bones beneath the boulders
Watch you scream and watch you shout
Turn away and leave my shadow
Out to dry
Turning to face the sun
To chase the light as it burns brighter
My shadow stretches ever longer
Erosion sets in
To wash you all away
I don't remember this one
"Hidden City" (2008)
You found me.
Wake the guards and let down the barricades of ridicule.
This where I run once the candles drown their flames in wax,
Once the torches hit the waves of the ocean like a great hopeless army.
I've been shaking like the uncomfortable plates of the displeased earth,
Stranded on the shores of fear, buried in the sand like some hidden city,
Locked away, unfit for service.
Lamenting on ambitions you shattered beneath your heel,
This is where I fell once you smashed the training wheels.
I stopped searching for the shadows when the shadows grew too long.
Now I hide where all can see, can watch me,
Watch me doubled under the tables searching for my soul.
When I get you corned, I'll watch you stutter,
Watch you trip over your words like I fumbled through the atmosphere
Free falling through the heavens you fabricated with the hand that feeds,
The hand that giveth, taketh, denied me all along,
Lifted me just to drop me into a well of drowning myths and false encouragement
To swim and swim until your arms give out, and
Climb back out just to know you've already made your worst decision.
I know you cannot keep me here.
I want to say goodbye, but
Put me back.
You found me.
Wake the guards and let down the barricades of ridicule.
This where I run once the candles drown their flames in wax,
Once the torches hit the waves of the ocean like a great hopeless army.
I've been shaking like the uncomfortable plates of the displeased earth,
Stranded on the shores of fear, buried in the sand like some hidden city,
Locked away, unfit for service.
Lamenting on ambitions you shattered beneath your heel,
This is where I fell once you smashed the training wheels.
I stopped searching for the shadows when the shadows grew too long.
Now I hide where all can see, can watch me,
Watch me doubled under the tables searching for my soul.
When I get you corned, I'll watch you stutter,
Watch you trip over your words like I fumbled through the atmosphere
Free falling through the heavens you fabricated with the hand that feeds,
The hand that giveth, taketh, denied me all along,
Lifted me just to drop me into a well of drowning myths and false encouragement
To swim and swim until your arms give out, and
Climb back out just to know you've already made your worst decision.
I know you cannot keep me here.
I want to say goodbye, but
Put me back.
This one feels finished now
"Facing the Wind" (2008)
Cast off, forgotten,
Accused of abuse.
Wonder what history
Will do to you.
Stolen, misnamed,
Picked from the sands.
Presented as new
By ignorant hands.
Pages have burned,
Though the libraries stand.
When the records have turned,
So will your fellow man.
Brushed away beauty
On the whispering wind.
Once again, buried under
A legacy of man.
Cast off, forgotten,
Accused of abuse.
Wonder what history
Will do to you.
Stolen, misnamed,
Picked from the sands.
Presented as new
By ignorant hands.
Pages have burned,
Though the libraries stand.
When the records have turned,
So will your fellow man.
Brushed away beauty
On the whispering wind.
Once again, buried under
A legacy of man.
Imitation of the Man
“Imitation of the Man” (2008)
All my hours, I have spent them waiting for your call,
To lay my head upon your lap, to be your voodoo doll.
But I can feel it in my heart, my will to life is fading.
And now I see as clear as day; I’m living a charade.
The shock has struck me loud and clear, the tears come fast and wet,
I shake my head in disbelief, I won’t accept it yet.
Your face upon my wall guffaws, your eyes are judging me!
Was I so foolish to see life as opportunity?
I spent years inside your footsteps, a lifetime in your shoes,
Took shelter in your shadow! Admiration, all I knew…
And after looking up to taste the rain, you spit into my face!
I only loved and worshipped you, but now you fall from grace.
And what an opportunity to express how I feel!
With flying fists, a red hot tongue—your face beneath my heel!
But now my walls are naked as my angel falls to earth.
You were my only guidance, my long life’s only worth.
But standing back I see you naked without wings at all.
Perhaps you were never up above, I never saw you fall.
And as you vanish from my life, I peer from outside in;
Your angel’s wings were never there, you were only a man…
Just now I see my life in jest, my achievements imitation,
A life guided purely by outline—abuse of inspiration!
Oh, how I long for birth again, the chance to start anew!
But as I stare into the grave, I don’t know what to do.
My knees collide with holy ground; please, Jesus, hear my plea!
Forgiveness, Lord, I was misled, I never came to be!
But now I lie alone in bed, a raft on seas of silence.
The days have passed and I will wait…I will wait for your guidance.
All my hours, I have spent them waiting for your call,
To lay my head upon your lap, to be your voodoo doll.
But I can feel it in my heart, my will to life is fading.
And now I see as clear as day; I’m living a charade.
The shock has struck me loud and clear, the tears come fast and wet,
I shake my head in disbelief, I won’t accept it yet.
Your face upon my wall guffaws, your eyes are judging me!
Was I so foolish to see life as opportunity?
I spent years inside your footsteps, a lifetime in your shoes,
Took shelter in your shadow! Admiration, all I knew…
And after looking up to taste the rain, you spit into my face!
I only loved and worshipped you, but now you fall from grace.
And what an opportunity to express how I feel!
With flying fists, a red hot tongue—your face beneath my heel!
But now my walls are naked as my angel falls to earth.
You were my only guidance, my long life’s only worth.
But standing back I see you naked without wings at all.
Perhaps you were never up above, I never saw you fall.
And as you vanish from my life, I peer from outside in;
Your angel’s wings were never there, you were only a man…
Just now I see my life in jest, my achievements imitation,
A life guided purely by outline—abuse of inspiration!
Oh, how I long for birth again, the chance to start anew!
But as I stare into the grave, I don’t know what to do.
My knees collide with holy ground; please, Jesus, hear my plea!
Forgiveness, Lord, I was misled, I never came to be!
But now I lie alone in bed, a raft on seas of silence.
The days have passed and I will wait…I will wait for your guidance.
Introduction
I've tried to make a ton of different blogs, but I need something immediate and less laborious. I'm going to post poems and other writings whenever I make them. Simple as that. Enjoy, and please tell me what you think.
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