December 2009
23 posts
we don’t run. we don’t compromise.
we don’t quit. we never do.
we look for love…
willie nelson - we don’t run
it takes some time to really appreciate violence. the softer, kinder women ( or emasculated she-men, et al ) will buy that ugly lie about women being somehow more morally or emotionally evolved and turn their noses up at a bloody fist. or bombed village, or the senseless deaths of thousands. this does not change the equation; life has costs. and those costs are usually expressed in terms of power,...
Negativity is treason.
You will fail as a rugged individual, you will survive as a member of a tribe or family.
why question? just go with it…
Today I close my lips For so long as I can or Until you pull them open With violent need of my voice.
t a l i s m a n
i’ll take this comfort from throat or thigh, or lip. I’ll take this aching itch threatening everything turn it to fire. I’ll burn away the skin and muscle, tendon and ligament. there will be no more than a river of bones. & want. there will be nothing for need to cling to. i’ll pry this comfort from the clutches of those who hold it fast over mouths. this comfort will...
When they poured across the border I was cautioned to surrender, this I could not do; I took my gun and vanished. I have changed my name so often, I’ve lost my wife and children but I have many friends, and some of them are with me.
the partisan - l. cohen
frombittersearchingoftheheart
caged by shadow at every turn winter unloads on me. all it’s lies and promises. all its demands. caged like a jungle cat too-long watched. tall grasses come worn-path, imaginary lines drawn just inside imagined constraints. all these muscles grow weak. comfort coats everything like an unkeepable promise. all this violence and beauty bottled and held in check. so many lashings to keep it all...
“for each need now will be new and specific to each cause, and each possibility...”
– how quickly we forget.. http://puncture.ruzz.org/post/213934258/birth
i n c h i n g
you limped across the solstice line. congratu-fuckin-lations. everything still stands. no ones died or been reduced to a gaggle of conflicting emotions. no line or promise or need went unmet or unheard. no sirens, or junkie fucking breakdowns. none of that. all the same don’t throw yourself a parade or anything. that was the gloaming and this is the dark. fasten all the loosed ropes....
Off track again. Ratios are all out of order.
l o s s l e s s
the winds bring moist warmth from somewhere i’ve never seen. i feel it on my skin, inside my lungs. pushed from pink to white and I take in full breaths long as I can. I take in full breaths and turn them to fuel. i turn them to thought and action. love and ego. I turn them into a world I can make out just beyond my reach but full and alive in my heart. and i breath them out somehow anew...
Rough in all the right ways.
Warm winter day. Sun. Pretty girls on public transit. Lunches with friends. Hockey. Love. Photos. The curve of sweatered breasts. Contentment and big plans to disrupt it. Harmony and disharmony. What more could you ask of a day?
story time is the best time. it’s the pinnacle of all man’s efforts for a thousand generations. to lay full bellied on the warm thighs of your lover, safe and sound, and be read to. this is what all the work of our forefathers was done for. wars fought for. endless cycles of fucking and death happened for. this is what its all about. our highest expression as a species.
“my girl is so pretty it hurts sometimes.” Ruzz
…okay so we all...”
– and the haters say..
humans need varied experiences on every front to fully develop themselves.
long term connections of any type are impediments to growth.
the pains real bad. heat cant touch it. muscle creams. drugs. nothing gets there. nothing should ever come from there, and it does so nothing can ever get to there.
q u i e t
it’s not that you aren’t oozing with it. it’s not that you aren’t a boiling sea of it. it’s not like that. it’s more like the lack of sun and warmth. more like holding on for spring takes everything in you. more like you’re alone most days all day, some weeks, and you get sick of hearing yourself speak. so you take your voice and you fold the corners over...