Sunday, December 27, 2009

100th post

This blog has become, I'd like to think, more than just a trite "dear diary' collection of sob story posts from a lonely adolescent. I'm not writing to whine about my life, or seek approval for my humble creative works. When I began I sought merely to post some old poetry has turned into a medium to get perspective through writing, and take a good look at my life and how I'm living it. This collected body of short prose outlines my personality, and with it I have begun to define myself in a way I struggled to before. And recently while writing "Escape" I've had an outlet to gain relief from the loneliness and frustration that has plagued me over the past few months, and one that has given me purpose during the doldrums of so much time spent alone. So. Here we are, one hundred posts. Thank you for reading, those of you who still do among the seven with the url. Next stop two hundred.

Escape part 14

"You brought it here? Fools!" The bird squawked at us in disbelief as the scaly behemoth cantered into the dank cave. We ignored the chatter and unhooked the worn leather saddle, tossing it into a pile by the hawk. The beast snorted and rolled its now freed shoulders, a puff of smoke rising from its nostrils. "What's the matter? It was your plan that helped us free him" I joked to the now quivering pile of feathers pressed against the wall in fear.

Escape part 13

Braided rawhide tassels whistle past my cheek, curling with a earsplitting crack just over my shoulder. The whip retracts quickly, poising for a second strike. "You shouldn't have come here!" the blonde whip wielding handler admonishes. "They are dangerous and unpredictable you can't let them free!" I ignored her and back flipped out of range of the whip just before it sliced through the space I formerly occupied. All I had to do was keep her distracted long enough for Zasha to cut through the chains. She had better hurry.

A thunderous roar echoed through the small chamber the handler had chased me into. We froze, her face white with fear. "What have you done?" She shrieked, pausing long enough for me to dive past her and slam the heavy steel door.

Escape part 12

The plunging neckline of her blood red gown manages to leave little to the imagination and send it soaring with lustful fantasies as she mingles her way through the crowd with all the grace of a well-mannered diplomat. I can't help but watch her from the balcony above, smirking at the thought of the dagger hidden against her thigh. She seems cool and collected to the party goers, but I can tell from here she is scanning the security, confirming what I had already observed. The shifts had doubled.

Her impatient expression as I rounded the room with a tray laden with champagne did little to expedient the journey to her corner. "This isn't going to work with your avian friend's plan. Is there a plan B?" I grinned and gestured to the not quite ceremonial sword hanging at my belt. "I like plan B already."

Saturday, December 26, 2009

More flow of consciousness

Smoking gun
Broken heart
Inner shell
Dare to hope
Afraid of
Give hope
Take it away
So tired of this game

Friday, December 25, 2009

Escape part 11

The dim swinging lamp brought a faded map into relief, tangled scribbles outlining the aged ink. She leans across the table towards me, nimble hand pointing out a hidden escape route. Eyes meet, my breath catches at the ravishing depth of her gaze. The damned bird coughs from the corner, abruptly ending the moment all too soon. "Enough. The plan is flawless. You both know it by heart. We go tonight."

Barely an hour later, we stood back to back catching our breath surrounded by recently slain bodies in a slowly spreading pool of blood. "That was more guards than we predicted" I murmured between gasps for air. "What's the matter? Tired already?" I grinned and leaped backwards over her head. Tired indeed.


Cool rain
Bare skin
Arm around you
Your cheek
Against mine
I hold you tighter
Never there at all
Tears fall
No will
Won't swim
No point
Don't care
You my love

Escape part 10

The rambling estate identified by the note could hardly be called luxurious, though in a better state of repair the ragged mansion might more closely resemble a humble palace. I glanced back at the hawk, his expression as disbelieving as mine. "Surely she doesn't live in this dump. With her talents she could own the city." The bird shrugged, annoyingly nonchalant. Stepping up to the main gate we listened cautiously for sounds of life inside.

The door exploded outward without warning, nearly slicing me in half, followed quickly by a leather booted heel. Diving off the porch, a flash of feathers told me I would be alone in this fight.

This post has nothing to do with Christmas.

It's an amazing feat, managing to juggle interest in two girls at once while neither of them happens to return the affection. Perhaps I shouldn't say amazing. Confusing, depressing, self-depreciating, all seem to fit. At least I still have my Escape.

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Escape part 9

In the relative safety of a shadowed alcove, I tear off the wrapping of the battle-won parcel. A simple note inside the package bearing only an address and a single name. The bird's disapproving hiss at the name gives me an uneasy feeling deep in my stomach. Zasha.

"No way. Not her" The words barely reach my ears, my mind is already made up as I step briskly into the rain. "She's too risky, too dangerous!" This time the bird's admonishing rings out with only the stormy sky as audience.

Escape part 8

The cool mortar against my back holds me steadfast against the blade at my throat, my eyes glaring return daggers at its owner. The brooding raven haired temptress standing before me eyes me with a mixture of annoyance and impatience. Despite the icy steel point pinning me to the wall I can't help but admire her equally icy beauty "Well?"

A loaded pause later we both burst into laughter as a ruffle of feathers announces the arrival of our mutual guide. "Are you two done with your games so we can get back to work?" A shared glance, the games have just begun this night.

Escape part 7

"Stop Thief!" Shit. Whirling, I draw the glimmering pure white blade in a fluid motion. Taken aback, they hesitate for only a moment before drawing their own weapons. Scanning quickly, my eyes find the weakness before they can begin to circle me. It's time.

Dancing among them, blade flashing, the only sound is the clashing of steel on steel and surprised shouts each time I slip past a defense and draw blood.

Escape part 6

The pale, worn bamboo bends gently under my weight, the smooth wood cool against my palms. From my inverted stance I observe the forest around me, thick stalks rising skyward past my feet. My arms begin to quiver with exertion, struggling to maintain the grueling position. From behind disapproving squawks rekindle my determination, beads of sweat forming on my brow. A thunderous report bursts into my concentrated state, I fall from my perch with a crash.

Tearing through the jungle at blinding speed, ignoring the hawk's convenient absence as more echoing blasts behind me spurn me ever faster.The rigorous training begins to prove useful as I sprint, using my arms to launch myself off trees almost more than my legs to run.I stop hearing the shots long before I stop running.

Escape part 5

Hurried footsteps sound in pursuit on the rooftop behind me, but I haven't time to check their progress. Eyes focused on the route ahead, I spare a glance neither for my followers or for the ground far below. From rooftop to rooftop I dance quietly under the watchful eye of a familiarly shaped shadow. Over an air vent, under a pipe, an endless repetition of leaps and dives continues as the footsteps behind me gradually fade to silence. "Did you get it?"

The small parcel in my hand answers affirmatively. As I catch my breathe at the end of a long, gently sloping roof the comfortingly regular noises of the night are shattered by a piercing siren. The chase continues.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Escape part 4

The impossibly infinite blue sky stretches from horizon to horizon, framing the beaming sun on an endless canvas. A waving ocean of pure green dances around me in the wind, stalks caressing my legs. Cool, rich earth beneath my feet steadies me against the breeze. An impatient squawk behinds me draws me out of my trance. Whirling, I'm greeted by a massive hawk like bird nearly equal my height preening his feathers absentmindedly. "I've been waiting for you" he cries in a voice eerily more hawk than human.

Minutes later the landscape rushes by beneath me, massive wings on either side buffeted by the fierce wind. Recognizable fauna below describes a flowing change in climate impossibly fast, fluidly advancing from expansive plains to dense, lush jungle. Without warning the ground below disappears behind us as we launch over the edge.

Escape part 3

The thick leather straps seems almost to meld into my shoulder, holding the somehow familiar weight of the worn guitar against my hip. My hand rests perfectly against beat-up bridge, stroking out rhythms I barely recognize in my own head. The spotlight blocks out the audience, isolating me with the music. The drum behind me pounds away, pulsing vibration up my spine. Alien melodies pour out of the monitor in front of me, through the haze I can barely connect them with the guitar in my hands.

After the show the slick black limousine meets me outside amid a cloud of screaming fans craving a glimpse, an autograph, a picture. Three girls get in with us, unfamiliar but superficially friendly faces grin back at me.

Escape part 2

Time moves at a much altered rate in Pretereo. Of that much I'm sure. I'm not sure how many days I've spent here but back home barely a day has passed. Perched on this ledge over looking the sprawling metropolis, it's almost surreal to reflect on the time I've spent here. Then again I shouldn't be surprised, a world created to escape reality often doesn't reconcile with reality. A shadow passes over my eyes, interrupting my moody inner monologue. Finally.

Legs coiled under me explode into action, launching me out over the cityscape hundreds of stories high. The wind tears at my outstretched arms like a savage beats, snarling in its blood lust. Endless seconds of delirious free fall are broken by a familiar rustle of feathers, and a deep brown eye inches from mine.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Escape Part 1.

I've read about people retreating into their minds when faced with hardships or pain. Creating an alternate reality in their consciousness, a safe place to escape reality. I used to think such people were weak for being unable to cope. However as time has passed the idea of vanishing from reality and finding a self-created utopia has become more and more appealing. Still as long as I could cope with reality I intended to. Until last night.

I snapped. It's almost as if the world instantly blurred. I saw things through a haze, murky and unrecognizable objects loomed as the world changed around me. Before things even began to refocus I knew something was wrong.


The flutter of your hair casts delicate shadows across your cheek
With each breath I drink in the faint scent of lavender cast on the warm summer breeze
Ruby red lips tantalizingly close, Soft curves dance just out of reach of my straining fingers
Lust surges through my veins, a coursing raging river
Urging me to bend the bars of this self-made prison
Clear thought abandoned when I gaze into your eyes, inviting me to come deeper
Fall into the abyss

I hate

The twisted mockery of a person I've become
And my inability to change any of it by the slightest fraction that would matter

Monday, December 21, 2009


My life is an endless repetition of poking electric wire
You'd think I'd have learned by now
But no. I'm a glutton for punishment apparently
Each day of my life is progressively shittier than the last
So essentially I'm forever having the worst day of my life
I feel like I'm stuck in a Judd Apatow movie three quarters of the way to the end
Right before the nerdy socially rejected loser hooks up with the girl of his dreams
Held tantalizingly close, having it dangled in my face inches from reach


Tick tock tick tock
Losing time-racing clock
Metronome-skipping rock
Hands shaking-muscle lock
Heavy chest-breathe caught
Eyes open-Seeing naught
Stumbling free
No way out
No way up
Try to scream
No one hears

Sunday, December 20, 2009


I don't know who I am
Or what I'm going to be
Though I promised myself not to let what I do define who I am
But the reality is I don't know
What I'll be doing in 10 years
Or where
Or with who
Maybe I'll find myself deep in the Venezuelan jungles tending to jaguars and fighting poachers
Or maybe I'll be sitting high in a cloud brushing sardine box for the wealthy, telling people their problems and giving them a god, one pill at a time
Perhaps my life will play out on the road, playing guitar in dingy blues clubs and grimy bars
God forbid I'll be sitting behind a desk in some forsaken cubicle typing out meaningless reports
But I digress
I don't know
What to do now


I'm changing
One baby step at a time
Bending over backwards
Contorted so I can't recognize
My own reflection
All of this
To be the sort of guy
She might hang out with
I don't know
If I have a chance
If it's even worth trying
But goddamnit
I can't risk
Missing the opportunity
That she could be mine

Friday, December 18, 2009

Let's go for a drive

I'll be your freedom
If you'll be my navigator
Pick a destination
Anywhere you can get to
In a beat up Chevy Malibu
I'll take you there

Thursday, December 17, 2009


Sad indeed is the day when you cannot understand the thoughts in your own head
Oh champion of intellectual introspect
The comforting blanket of sanity unravels as you lose grip one thread at a time
Watching reality from behind stained glass
Confused colors and movement mingle with dulled sound
Losing touch a little more with each sleepless hour

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Finally finished something

Slowly rotting in this eight by twelve prison
Depression chains me
Apathy suppresses my will to fight
Waiting hours for a fleeting chat with a girl miles out of my league
Just to get a taste of real life
I don't think she knows
I'd like to tell her but
I can't stand rejection
Maybe I'll give it some time
Or maybe I'll just keep it inside
And pray for a miracle

Can't seem to finish anything tonight

Dark club
Thudding bass
Echoing heartbeats
Dripping sweat
Bodies pressed close
Hair obscures her eyes

Carry, also unfinished

One step at a time her carries her
Through desert wind whipping at his coat
And midnight storms dumping precious water on the barren landscape
Through his exhaustion and pain
He carries her, his arms a shelter against the mighty elements raging around them
Huddled against him she finds safety
Holding her he finds happiness

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Downtown unfinished

Lets go downtown
Grab a bite, the night is early
Huddle together to fight the cold, wave down a taxi
Tell the cabbie to drive, don't give a direction
Stop wherever catches our fancy
Maybe a broken down bowling alley
Perhaps a high class art gallery
Let's go downtown


Do you want to see inside my heart?
I've got a window here, I'll let you take a peek
Just say you'll be mine, you can have it all!
Whats that? No thanks?
Oh, okay I guess. I'll be here if you change your mind
Always here.


So many people looking for another
Lost souls, searching for a map, a destination, a companion
Wandering around blind in the dark
There has got to be a better way

Monday, December 14, 2009

Inspired by Chelsea Cooper <-hobo

My backpack is packed, 50 bucks and a few bottles of water
An extra pair of jeans, some old sneakers
No one will notice my absence for at least a day
I'll just walk out the front door
Take a left towards town
Past the Stop and Go on the corner, wave to the fellow travelers making a buck washing cars
Through the Wal-Mart parking lot, stop and and peek at the puppies for sale
Past my community college, the few brilliant professors surrounded by dinosaurs and apathetic students
Share a sub with a traveler, pitching in half from my meager supplies
Spend the night in uncomfortable but welcome slumber beneath a park bench
Bask in the sunrise, glorious as it pokes through the pine covered horizon
Just walk without direction, ignoring street patterns and sidewalks
Wander the streets forever.

Pissed Off

I can feel the frustration boiling into rage
Fists clenched so tight blood oozes from my knuckles
Every muscle tensed, coiled like a spring ready to explode into action
Anger roared into the night like a lion stymied on the hunt


And so we settle into the seemingly endless isolation of winter break
Quiet solitude unwelcome, unwanted in my miserable mountaintop perch
And so I sit and twiddle my thumbs
Alone as always
Desperate for human contact

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Gee I'm so clever

Misery is the muse of the masses

That or alliteration


I don't want to:
Hook up
Shack up
Bump the buoy
Make waves
Make a splash
Make whoopee
Make love
Make out
Make bacon
Make babies
Go all the way
Get a home run
Take you home tonight
Take a roll in the hay
Knock boots
"Do it"
Get it on
Lay you down
Have sex

I just want to hold your hand.

Fetal Position

The carpet warms my cheek
Lackluster comfort of the familiar floor of my prison reminds me of my lot
Knees hugged against my chest to ward off the world
Crushing loneliness envelopes me
My tiny cell presses around me even as the world stretches away in a strange agoraphobic twist
Help me


I met him on a cruise
He is without doubt the coolest person I've ever met
Honestly. He was just. Cool
We called him david feather hair.
Not sure why.
But it was cool
We found him the first night
Sitting on the stairwells
Reading a book
Like actually crying
We spent like 6 hours on an elevator riding up and down
The four of us
Discussing underground bands and heroine addictions
He was like the pied piper
Like robin hood cool
Like young Dumbledore

Saturday, December 12, 2009


I want to disappear
Like a wisp of smoke, dance away on the slight breeze
Over the horizon
Vanish, without a trace
Every tie to this life severed
Hold tight to a passing whim
Every day the start of a new life
Reality a distant stain of the past

But I can never have her


I noticed a peculiarity just now
Both of my closest friends are of the fairer sex
With whom I hold deep, meaningful conversations about life, love, and other heavy topics
Both are off limits, for various reasons, and I'm okay with that
It makes me wonder however
Why the hell can't I get to this point with an available girl
Am I that unappealing that it isn't worth the time to get to know me?
Even as I write this I realize how much of a whiny little bitch I sound like
Forget it.

It Rhymes! Egad!

I'd like to say
That one solemn day
I'll think back to this time
Content contemplation over fine wine
And be pleased with my choices
I've ignored drinking, drugs, such vices
Accomplished much, explored potential to be
Wading towards a future I can't see
I hope my sorrow will serve me someday
And that I will be happy, this I pray

Journey part 2

To love another
You must love yourself
Or so I am told
It is a curious thing however
How one can negate the other
To love her so much
Without return
For so long
I began to despise myself as weak
I could not lift myself from that hell
At last I stand on solid ground
Why do I feel such sorrow

Journey part 1

Tonight I am the loneliest man in the world
I finally abandoned hope; that precarious perch
At long last I quit harboring any illusion I'd had about ever holding her in my arms
What a dark, lowly state
Yet I can never return
No matter how wretched I feel
I must move forward
The first step, the most painful

Thursday, December 10, 2009


You're the scotch tape for my fragile ego
You put me back together time and again
You've got your own problems
Yet here we are night after night
Thanks for being a friend in my lonely world


I'm starting to sound pathetic in my own head. Stuck in this endless loop of up and down. Hanging on a word even as I curse her name. Not that she knows. I guess that leaves me just another guy hung up on a girl. Feeling like something straight out of a Beatles song. Maddeningly in love with someone who will never return it. I know I should give up-move on, try to live like a normal person. So I tell myself with each round. And yet here I am again, drawn in like a sailor to a siren

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Cold Turkey

Enough is enough
I'm swearing her off for good this time
I mean it
I won't let her keep me on edge forever
Always hanging on her every word with baited breath
It's got to stop
Tonight was the last time I wait up for her in sad anticipation like a pitiful puppy, waiting for someone to show him affection
It ends now

Aww shit she smiled at me
Here we go again


Bitter frost nips at exposed flesh, almost accusatory of their midnight tryst
His breathe fogs the glass
She draws a heart

The Musician-Unfinished

Started this piece in the car, went in to wal-mart, came back and simply couldn't finish it. Enjoy

Hushed, excited chatter fades as he takes the stage
Eager faces watch him closely, trying to glean some bit of wisdom from the expression on his face, his posture, his every movement
The first note resonates through the crowd, dull vibrato echoing deep in each soul
The piece flows into a rising crescendo and the audience soars with it to the crest, a tweaked string mimics their joy
Here he descends into a solemn, contemplative series of arpeggios, drawing the crowd deeper

And that's all I got sorry.


Among criminals, a gentleman
Dashing, dapper, fluid in form
In the grimy underbelly he thrives
Modern day Robin Hood
At ease among scum, at home among humble
By many names he is known
I call him Swindle
Perchance to pass him by on the street
Catch only a blur
Flash of color
Red tie
Black suit
Flashing red
Perpetual motion
Smooth voice
Soothing black
And he leaves them in a stupor
Money tucked deep in his coat
Swindle strikes again


Oh the people you meet while skipping through Wal-Mart


Come along Come along
Theres a place I know set back in the woods
Among noble pines and gentle oaks
Where the wind whispers faintly above your head
A small cleft of rock nestled among the roots
We can stop and rest awhile
Come along Come along
I heard a sailor talking once
Of a cave carved into a cliff along the shore
In the damp echo chamber
Breakers crash against the jagged rocks
Nature's symphony
We can stay and listen
Come along Come along
Run with me, across the ever-stretching plains
Through the oft sung of sea of grains
Basking in the power of the midnight storm
We can pause and soak it in
Come along Come along
Perhaps we needn't go anywhere
A day wrapped in the warm comfort os silk sheets and each others arms
No beautiful vision more ravishing than the one at my side
Come along Come along

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

The Jump

I don't think I can make it. That's a really long way, it didn't look so far from the ground. Seriously this is crazy, what the hell was I thinking. I can just see it now, I don't make it by the slightest inch and I'm splattered all over the concrete. Then again maybe getting splattered would be better than going back to their taunting faces and "I told you he'd chicken out." Oh man I can't do this it's too far... fuck it I'm just gonna go for it. Just go before you can back down, that's it build up some speed and oh shit oh shit oh shit! Oh my god I'm flying, this is amazing! I think I'm gonna make it, wow the ground is coming up so fast, I wonder what my last thought will be before I land... Just a bit to go, the wind rushing past me can't be real, surely I'm not going this fast. Damn, look at their faces, none of them will ever doubt me again that's for sure! I can just see her at the back of the group, hair floating in the breeze. That expression on her faces makes this whole thing worthwhile. Aw crap here we go-THUD


As such things happen more often than one would surmise, you may find yourself in an existential quandary one winter's eve, lost in transcendental ballet
You will ask yourself, How did I get here? Does it matter?
Decidedly not, you will conclude, though this truth changes very little, certainly not more than any meaning you attach to it. Somewhere however in the course of your persistent musing you may chance to discover a flaw, as many others have before you.
a flaw in motion, flitting past your consciousness
like so many Snowflakes
Delicate in singularity

Monday, December 7, 2009

Voice of a generation

A very wise friend told me recently this blog seemed to scream "I AM NOT A SHALLOW TEENAGER AND I AM GOING TO MAKE SURE YOU KNOW THIS!"

But flattery will get her nowhere(<-lie). Seriously however it made me wonder what my actual purpose was with this pet project of mine. Do I seriously believe my writing will catch on and people will hail me the Kurt Cobain of this generation, voice of the nice guys who get friend zoned? No. Would be nice, but then again I'm not entirely comfortable with EVERYONE having access to my inner thoughts. Though I suppose that very same feeling drove the real Kurt Cobain to "suicide" if you believe such theories. On the other hand would it suit me to be the lone lonely reader of this collection of scribblings, my only critic the most biased one? No, I suppose commanding a following of avid readers could prove quite enriching in a delightfully self gratifyingly way. For once in my life, I strive forward without an easily apparent goal or indeed any method of measuring progress. Despite my raging OCD tendencies to finish a project, it's actually quite calming simply to a 'do'. And for now, that is enough.


I sat down here trying to write some depressing allude to claustrophobic loneliness, or another dreamy allusion to an imaginary affection. But I can't. Not today.

I am simply too happy today to write poetry.

What a simple happiness. Moronic really if I stop to think about it, though I try not to in fear of prematurely depriving myself of this simple bliss

I can't say too much more here or I'll have to begin my posts with "dear diary."
Not gonna happen.

Needless to say its her again. This stupid roller coaster is getting annoying, but i can't say I don't enjoy the ride.

Sunday, December 6, 2009


Isn't it funny how much easier poetry is when either in the depth of despair or at the peak of bliss?

How do you draw inspiration from quiet mediocrity?

Theres no depth in hours spent working through frustrating matrix problems, and if there is any simple beauty to be admired in this room familiarity has long since tempered it.

I digress, perhaps there is inherent beauty in even the most mundane workings of a-oooh look shiny!

Curse of the J

I think I should start worrying when my poetry starts to remind me of Jim Morrison songs.

The Dark Side

It all starts with a wrong
The wrong creates hurt
Hurt festers into resentment
Resentment breeds anger
Anger decays into foul, loathing hate

Somehow white people historically have seemed to skip straight to the last step.


Why is it that some times I feel more easily inspired to write than others? Just hours ago I laid down page after page effortlessly, yet now I stare at the blank screen, the flashing cursor taunting me in immobile haughtiness. Writers block =(


I can confirm to a scientific fact that AC/DC is not productive music for writing introspective poetry. Just in case you wondered.


Its depressing when you're mature enough to know when raging at your parents is adolescent in nature and yet still feel like slamming your door every time you talk to them.

Mental Health

Fortunately sanity and insanity are not the only possible states of mind


You know you've been awake for too long when you start craving breakfast and the sun isn't up yet.


In such a personal and interpretation based method of communication, I believe a person should seek meaning in a work of writing apart from the author. if the author explains their intended message, all other possible meanings cease to exist for the reader. Writing should be enjoyed inwardly, without explanation or background


After this foray into a deep meaningful literary world how does one return to the idle facebook chatter about the weather and plans for the weekend?

Should one return?

Creative Insomnia

For some reason I am most reflective, most self-examinatory when sleep deprived. two in the morning and a growing stack of papers next me unlock a small window to my soul. Te bed to my right calls me to come and sleep away my troubles in a far away blissful dreamland, yet still on my pencil scurries. Meaningless rhymes and deflectory sarcasm set aside, simple and often painful truth takes shape before me. "One last piece," I think to myself, yet each time I reach The End my mind merely leaps down another literary path, eagerly spilling forth eloquent prose and biting self-criticism. I should stop, clamber into bed and put such introspective judgement behind me, each yawn is more convincing than the last. Alas another closing, perhaps the last in this depressing sequence. Or perhaps not.


The sheer Terror of darkness envelopes me
Swirls of unknown dance just past searching fingertips
Pure fright grips my spine as I lash out against imagination's tricks
A bruised knuckle is all I have to show for my panicked flailing
Even familiar surroundings transform into dangerous minefields at a slight redecoration
Frustrated at my own disorientation and vulnerability I cry out in anguish
Even as the sound echoes soft hands press against mine, reassuring whispers assuage my fears
Without her I am lost and alone in the dark


Shredded bits of paper, fuel to writers block
A lone lamp bathes the table in light
The makeshift stage host to a lonely performance
Starving artists desperately grasping at balance
Give and Take
Giving word to expressionless soul
Taking delight in the faint connection with even one reader
Push and Pull
Yin and Yang

What if

Soft scratchings of a familiar number two pencil link me to the pad before me in a terrifyingly spiritual manner

As a new day ticks into being, the dull gaze of a faded alarm clock reminds me of time's ever forward march

In a philosophical mood I ponder how things might pan out differently given a second chance knowing what I know now.

I feel altogether mundane in retrospect

No major hardships have been forced on me, the only troubles in my life seem self induced

Self aware for as long as i can remember, I long ago distinguished the difference between genuine hardship and character building struggle

Perhaps if I could go back I would change the only major decision I've ever faced in my life, if only to gain the experience, discover myself born from a different matrix

How would my awareness change?

I can name at least 3 major influences to my intelligence and spirituality who would not have impacted me had I possessed the courage to follow through

While I cannot speak for the unknown influences I may have encountered I believe wholeheartedly I would be entirely less introspective, intellectual, and scholarly

Not to say in the least I would be less intelligent, or that the teachers I may have met would be inadequate-merely to say without the experiences I have had, my thirst and yearning for knowledge and self awareness may never have begun

Perhaps I could be satisfied with simple acceptance, striving merely to make friends and be liked like so many my age

Perhaps I could be "popular," even more far fetched perhaps I would want it

Perhaps I could be good old fashioned, no strings attached happy

The world of what-ifs and perhaps however remains, as always, just out of reach in the past

As it is in this reality, there stands a fine line between bliss and intelligence, once it has been crossed it proves fruitless to attempt to return

For all my poetic musings I remain, for now, a distraught teenager in a motel room, scratching out pieces of his soul


If not for Hollywood's shenanigans, Mythbusters wouldn't have much to do at all after the first season or so. ave we really sunk so deep into fantasy that we need scientific proof of reality? One would be hard pressed to find a single action movie that could physically occur from start to finish, counting every overblown stunt and impenetrable superhuman hero. I understand the premise of escapism but when the line between reality and fantasy blurs our society descends into madness. Then again much of my life has been spent disconnected from reality, what do I know.

Cheap Motel

Rank of cigarettes on her breathe mixes with the sickly scent of shame
Stale, dirty sheets barely fight the bitter, biting frost
Each touch sends shivers of lust even as they repulse reflexively
Wadded cash on the nightstand defines the encounter
A Saturday night of material induced affection
Just another weekend in a cheap motel


Why? Have a cause
Because you can?
Get offended!
Look for the answer...
...Forget the question

Corporation Syndication
Liberation Federation!
Dilluted Democracy
Polluted Aristocracy
Bohemia? Poverty.
Middle Class? Conformity.
Rage! Rage! Rage!
Rejected by Society? Reject Society!
Screw you! Mentality


Lyrical war! Words like darts
Poets are soldiers
Modern Media!
"Put up or Shut up," Capital Mentality
Rank and file, Originality?
Stifle the resistance!
Crush all persistence!
Rebel against the emotional poverty
Conform or Starve

Saturday, December 5, 2009


I felt her body pressing against mine as if her very survival depended on our proximity
At the same time vulnerable and completely safe as she curled up against me
Toes drawn under the blanket to deter the biting cold of reality
i felt her hair against my cheek, softer than the finest silk and the warm scent of vanilla reached me
my arm around her held the world, the only thing that mattered at all
I knew I would climb to heaven and dive into hell if only to say in this moment
I drew in another breathe, dying to languish in the contentment I felt with her
All too soon however a familiar buzzing spun her into mist and woke me from my reverie
Grumpily I cursed the world for taking her from me, and my mind for letting me think I had her


Clanking gears grind away, slowly forcing the pendulum back and forth in an endless dance
Monotonously persistent in their quest for balance
Bronze chimes overhead rumble away the familiar tune, announcing the passing of another hour
The Patriarchal timekeeper, wizened by age yet still solemnly ticking away in his place of honor
Some things never change

Friday, December 4, 2009


maybe if I wear a hoodie
maybe if i walk with my hands in my pockets
maybe if i slouch just right
dip my head
act aloof

You'll think I'm a bad boy

Maybe if I listen to underground bands
play guitar
write poetry

You'll think I'm artistic

Maybe if I make you laugh
break the ice
be witty

You'll think I'm funny

Or maybe if I send you flowers
tell you you're beautiful
offer you the world

You'll love me

Beatles 2

All you need is food, water and shelter! all you need i-hold up! who wrote these lyrics man, it don't flow!


oh. lets just change that bit shall we no one will have to know

Beatles 1

Can't buy me loveeeee ohhhhhhh money can't buy me love

Dude it totally can! Lets go to Vegas!

Shut up George



I don't have to straighten the bookshelf every morning
but I do

I don't want to make align my pencils
but I do

I've never needed to make everything even
but I do

I could stop
but I don't

I will myself to stop
but I don't

It's not hurting anything right?

lab rat

endless hallways with infinite turn offs and detours and dead ends
racing towards an unknown goal in an unknown direction
no map
no compass
no guide
left, right, left, right, left, like a twisted safe combination
time is the tumblers
click, click
another piece of a never-ending lock
the doorway remaining ever sealed
another day, another dead end
stuck throttling down a pale treadmill

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Excerpt from as of yet untitled novel 1

Alex Prescott felt normal in the very core of his being. Every morning he ate the same whole grain breakfast cereal drowned in skim milk next to his younger brother and older sister. He waited with them for the bus wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and worn-but-not-ragged tennis shoes. The bus ride passed quickly over meaningless chatter with the same friends he'd had since kindergarten. At school Alex passed notes in class while homeroom teacher droned monotonously about the civil war. After school the afternoon was spent enjoying the freedom at one friend's or another's riding bicycles or hashing over every detail of the most recent "big game". Every evening he pedaled home for dinner, told his mother school was "fine" and teased his younger brother, lovingly of course.

And so it was for much of Alex's young life, each day closely resembling the day before. Details changed, his father purchased a new SUV and Alex's mother began ferrying his friends to and from school in the comfort of the rather luxurious little vehicle. His sister left for college on a full ride scholarship to state, pride of the entire family. She lived a mere half hours drive away however and visited the family at least twice a month. Alex grew several inches from an average boy to a quite lanky teenager, and a fair bit of awkwardness came with the territory. In nearly every way imaginable Alex seemed almost a poster child for normality, a new standard in being extraordinarily average. As most stories do however our tale focuses not on this rather dull time in Alex's life but the very extraordinary and unfortunately often unfortunate events that began Christmas day of Alex's freshman year of high school.

Rather little is known about the actual event other than shaky eye witness accounts and the recollections of Alex Prescott himself, though that is now a precious commodity. What we do know however, is that somewhere around five in the morning Christmas day the Prescott family cat was sharpening its claws on one of the wires when the fuse shorted and set the modest tree ablaze. The cat, which also is believed to have caught on fire in this initial short, yowled and sprinted from the room upstairs directly into Alex's bedroom. Upon hearing the commotion the entire family chased the likely flaming cat in disbelief, eventually catching it and likely dousing it in the upstairs bathroom. Somewhere at this point smoke had begun to fill the entire downstairs and began creeping upstairs to the shock of the Prescott clan, which included Alex's older sister home on winter break. Though why they didn't try to wait for firefighters is unknown, we can only conclude that the Prescott's attempted to exit the home. As they fled in terror however, a support column in the living room collapsed, bringing the upper floor down on their heads. Firefighters arriving on the scene recall hearing a tremendous cacophony of breaking wood and bending steel.

What happened next however has stumped the few who, like I, have attempted to uncover the unfortunate trials of Alex Prescott. Conflicting eye witness reports by several neighbors claim Alex walked from the burning rubble, unscathed but for a single terrible slash across his eyes. Another neighbor claims he crawled out, carrying a smoldering cat in his arms. One firefighter reports to have carried the boy out in his arms, though none now living can confirm this. All reports however corroborate on one detail however, the vividly frightful scar over his eyes. This we can assume safely then is the source of his mysterious marking. And his Blindness.

This was one of the alternate beginnings i had written for my story, I ended up dropping the fire altogether and making Alex blind from birth. I'll probably post more here since I don't feel like editing now and I'm stuck on the second installment. TTFN


Bathed in orange light my fingers dance across the keyboard with a skill born from inherent loneliness. Bits of my soul fleck off with each letter, dancing to the ground like snowflakes.
My canine companion curls up at my side, radiating warmth like a miniature furnace. Outside, the moon makes its nightly trek between the horizons,blinking in and out of view above the pine canopy. 'Change is coming' I tell myself for the thousandth time. 'Just make it to college, things are better there.' I scoff at my own optimism, sometimes I wonder if I'm simultaneously too mature and naive to be around people my age. One of my greatest fears is never finding a place I fit in, always being an outsider looking in.

A faint beep brings me out of my reverie back to reality, midnight again, the start of another lonely weekend


you dance just out of reach
maddeningly beautiful
glorious desire
clothed in brilliance
instantly accessible
unbearably unattainable

damn you


"i love you more than the grass loves rain"
'haha you're so goofy =)'
"thats me... the goofy guy you won't have sex with"

numerical puns

so 4 and 6 are hanging out at a bar
5 walks past
6 says hes in his prime
4 just thinks hes odd


I am a firm believer that our entire system of time is based on the number 60 so that it will never be 6:66

wishin well

plink splash
i wish for world peace
plink splash
i wish for a bicycle!
plink splash
i wish someone would notice me
i wish i had a better aim

hurried entry

sociology: the study of human interactions on a large scale.
yeah right
more like the a shitload of statistics and data that could mean literally anything you contrive it to. anywho
time for class
good day

Wednesday, December 2, 2009


those sightless eyes

no more than empty holes

blindly they gaze

down unto their doom

they they seek no more to defie


in the blink of an eye

mushy little poem

When your world is dark and gray

the little thing help make my day

because up ahead what do I see?

Something bad is out to get me

Can I escape? Can I get out?

It makes me want to scream and shout!

All this work I drive ahead

When the future may see me dead

Lying alone in the night

I think about my horrible plight

Should I go and end my life?

Is that the answer to all the strife?

But then I saw your pretty face

all my problems were erased

now I know what I will do

I will fall in love with you!

hella van old yo

One day I was walking down the road when I came upon a man, muttering to himself. "What's the matter?' I asked him.
"The problem is neither here nor there" he replied. I told him since it was neither here nor there it must not exist. The man leaped up at once and said "cancer does not exist?"
"it must not" I said. In my head I thought that cancer patients must not exist either. No sooner did the thought come to me did the man fade into the wind like dust. Perturbed at my own act, I fled down a dark alleyway, wrapped in my own thoughts. Shadows in beastly forms danced across the walls, and leered down upon me. There can be no shadows , for there is no light i comforted myself. Instantly the shadows vanished. The Lord almighty then appeared before me, bathed in light. "Who are you to banish demons and eliminate sickness?" he bellowed to me. "I am but a Thinker!" I replied. He told me that all things were of him and he was of them, therefore they must exist. I thought and responded: "then will I never die since you are immortal and i am of you and you are of me?" The lord laughed and said "good try, but death is also a part of me." I noticed a fallacy, and blurted out "then everything is dead and therefore does not exist!" Thusly I brought about the end of the universe unwittingly. END

pemento. pemmmeeeeento. pememememento

you know what inspires me? the H at the end of Oprah. man one little letter changes the whole world. it kinda makes you feel small. and big at the same time. like an olive. with pemento. im really hungry right now. and thirsty. i should eat some water.

wrote this last summer

I thought i was over the divorce and all that, really i did. hell a week after i thought i was cool with it.until about 10 minutes ago when i pulled a mickey mouse plate out of the drawer for a slice of late night pizza. I don't know why it hit me, I've used the plate dozens of times but i saw that mouse and I remembered, hard. It hit me so hard i sat down, in the middle of the kitchen, and remembered sitting in my bedroom, I can't even remember how long ago, listening to them argue. I heard her voice raise with an edge of hurt in it, and his answer, quiet but obviously upset. The door opens then slams twice, the car revs up then peels out down the driveway flinging gravel at the windows. The door opens then shuts quietly, I wonder rather anxiously which one stayed. Sometimes the tv turns on, sometimes i hear someone walking down the hall towards me, then turning around. The rest of the night is spent in awkward silence, the next day in even more awkward cheerfulness.

A visit to Mammaw the next day, helps keep me busy. I sometimes wonder how much she knew exactly, I do know she knew exactly what I needed most of the time.

I remember sun, mosquitoes, boredom, Abbot and Costello, dogs, sweet tea and the lake. It wasn't always bad times, in fact some of the most vivid happy memories i have are of summer days spent at the lake when She was around. So life moves on, I got a cynical, sarcastic, but laid-back attitude; He got a new girlfriend.

They're going to get married soon, believe it or not I'm happy, they complement each other well. Better than She did.

So where does that leave me? I don't feel any regret, well not about anything I could have changed. People make their own choices, thats what defines them. Will my life affect my choices? you bet it will.

I don't feel any resentment towards either of them in the least, not for "putting me through" anything, I don't blame them. Looking back I don't see any way they could have been together any other way.

I don't blame adults in general for splitting up either, if you no longer love your spouse, or feel any happiness with them, be the adult and let them move on as well as yourself. However your first priority even in the event of a split should be your children, I truly feel my dad's commitment to me even from across the state has shaped me as a man.

Does it hurt that She retains contact with our neighbors yet neglects to call and makes no effort to stay in contact? Absolutely. Do I blame her? Not in the slightest. She made a new life for herself, and I can respect that.

I don't need any sympathy, I know lots of kids had it worse of than me, in fact I could name a few.


Due to extensive research done by the University of Pittsburgh, diamond has been confirmed as the hardest metal known to man. The research is as follows. Pocket-protected scientists built a wall of iron and crashed a diamond car into it at 400 miles per hour, and the car was unharmed. They then built a wall out of diamond and crashed a car made of iron moving at 400 miles an hour into the wall, and the wall came out fine. They then crashed a diamond car made of 400 miles per hour into a wall, and there were no survivors. They crashed 400 miles per hour into a diamond traveling at iron car. Western New York was powerless for hours. They rammed a wall of metal into a 400 mile per hour made of diamond, and the resulting explosion shifted the earth's orbit 400 million miles away from the sun, saving the earth from a meteor the size of a small Washington suburb that was hurtling towards mid-western Prussia at 400 billion miles per hour. They shot a diamond made of iron at a car moving at 400 walls per hour, and as a result caused two wayward airplanes to lose track of their bearings, and make a fatal crash with two buildings in downtown New York. They spun 400 miles at diamond into iron per wall. The results were inconclusive. Finally, they placed 400 diamonds per hour in front of a car made of wall traveling at miles per iron, and the result proved without a doubt that diamonds were the hardest metal of all time, if not just the hardest metal known to man.


there one was a man from nantucket
spat in a bucket
fuck it
inspired by jessica


Ok. so I'm gonna write stuff here. you are going to read it. I never finish anything. most of its just random things I've written while bored and sitting in class. Or stuff i write when I get writers block on my book or don't feel like editing. anywho.... SUBTLE TRANSITION!
The Solemn Solitude of another lonely winter slowly sinks in, chills creeping up my bones sending shivers up my spine. The warmth of summer long forgotten, the fog rolls through my soul. -unfinished