October 2009
39 posts
run yourself into the ground, see if it’s any better down there.
lover, i’m beat and broken. worn and stained cheap-wine red. i’ll sit here dark and quiet and wait on you. i’ll sit here and find whats not broken to give to you.
if you aren’t afraid, you aren’t trying.
lost your keys, monkey. now you gotta go around losing all the locks. lose those locks and what matter will you bother over then?
l i v e ( r )
oh you know how the spirits get in me and take over. you know i’m going to do and say whatever happens to bubble up from the dark. im going to repulse you with my baseness, dazzle you with cadence and mock elegance, and then throw up on your porch steps after insulting anyone stupid enough to stand next to me. if i believed in redemption i might wonder why these things are true, but i...
flesh
we have these bodies and we give them to one another. hate them. nourish them. want them. inhabit them. we give them broken and hope the come back fixed. cut them. sacrifice them. deny them. feed them. we thrash apart yet a part of them. need them. tend them. forget them. we live and die in these bodies we give to one another.
her
i’ve started a new blog called her to explore my relationship with women. and give me a place to just ramble. i hope to reblog there, which is something i don’t allow myself anywhere else. enjoy.
if my house were my heart, my heart would be full of ribbon. white ribbon, red and purple plum-scented ribbon. my house is not a heart, but my heart is still full of ribbon. white ribbon, red and purple plum-scented ribbon.
sweet monkey plums kiss you quickly on cheeks and face joy erupts.
destroy your self. find out what’s possible without all that ugly intention.
d e a d t i m e
lost your way again. skin like paper, crackling sounds all around. you watch reds bleed blue and yellow come apart into ugly imperfect grains and pixels. things are too posed. too perfect. do what you always do, turn your back and use your body to make a dark shadow to hide your eyes in. now, darkened everything is possible. in the shadows the truth of things beats and thrashes, overcome by a...
s i t s t i l l
stuck your chair today. smoking cigarette after cigarette. grey skys got you hemmed in everywhere. red ribbon and 120 film unrolled on your desk like a revelation. your fingers are stained orange brown like october street light. you filter out everything that isn’t in line with your fantasies. the world becomes a tunnel. theres hips and bag pipes and pretty girl’s poems. photos and...
woke up with a belly of fire, it burned everything from inside to out, then left me charred, all a browned bone, and black-hearted.
s w e e t l o v e
and like claw hammer blasting apart a skull, Sweet October she comes full at you. you forget the brown grasses and six pm night dark dusks. you forget the hollow dirt smell carried on cold winds. the frantic vagrants and their scurrying ugly from your trash like cockroaches, or frightened lovers. Sweet October she always comes for you. she always comes and takes whatever you can least afford to...
is romantic love possible without transference, if so, what might it look like? we’d have to be alchemists to figure it out.
no matter how long between when the darkness comes we forget the light and all that lived in it.
world, i really am in love with you today. all your beauty and richness.
new post on puncture (birth) →
someone is going to get broken in two if things keep being so completely frustrating. and it ain’t gunna be me.
“he who loves the beautiful is called a lover because he partakes of it.”
– Phaedrus 249E
kissing you good-bye, then watching you walk away.. is exquisite..
b l o w m y . . .
hold tight and strong, so long, soonday you’ll think you can’t let go again. anymore. what of all those fingers and fleshy palms slapped down, away. maybe you missed what you were holding all for. maybe a delicate window of meaning closed, waiting. then your flesh erupts improbable, animal all a full, for a single perfect moment a thoughtless sensation-sea of living-death as your...
it’s getting away from you again. put a tourniquet on it, brother.
o c t o b e r
you grind water on stone long and stone becomes bit and spec. you pass rattle and bough through sand, bark and night building a loving fire that carries destruction far as these winds can reach. purse those perfect lips and balance a question heavy on your tongue then swallow it back down into your self. questions without voice demand nothing of no one.
b o x e r
i build intricate boxes. complex devices meant to trap completely. night and day my fat fingers work on finishing details. my heart is stained with slough from early morning building. my hands are worn and tired from the complexity and detail. i build these boxes around myself using the strongest idea-material my mind can fashion. then finished, i carefully catalogue their perfection. Start a fire...
p u s h
if you push hard enough i will always give over to you. if you can find a way to let me be extraordinary for you i will always fail. if you need me more than i can give, you will always be wanting. i will pour a lie down your throat and hold your hands behind you so you can’t ever work the lie free. and if you find your way to the ugly core by bringing the world against me i will coat all...
an apology.
in order that i find words for beauty my mind must first remember the meanings for the word.
and so my telling of your beauty is of beauty come before
and when the next asks of her beauty it will be yours i come to explain.