Katrina

I wasn't kidding when I said

I eat men like you for breakfast.

You should've heeded that warning last night--

because now, as you are tumbling

through the waves of my stomach acid,

you realize just how right I was.

I am not just a play thing or

a gentle little girl.

It is not a coy joke

when I whisper calmly in your ear:

"Do not fall in love with me unless you are prepared for war."

I am a walking earthquake,

bringing down cities

with nothing more than a gentle sigh.

I am the flood that finds you,

and after me, there is nothing left.

In your vain attempt to dry off

and find anything of value,

you will find only choked up crops

and bloated living room furniture.

I am tornado,

tearing everyone around me apart

after they've come in contact with me.

If you're strong, you hold on

while the weak go flying

across fields and dreams.

There is hardly a reason to chase after me

if you are not willing to swing a lasso of barbed wire,

spur your horse until you both bleed,

or live in longing of developing

callouses along your rope burned fingers.

I am burning wave of fire.

Shield of cannonball

and falling crash of firework

in a shower of confetti and acid rain.

I am grindstone,

crushing noses and hopes

directly into bread crumbs

--every ounce of which

waiting to be consumed

on a slab of ashwood

dripping in boxing glove blood.

I am parafin,

sucking air out of lungs

to preserve only the most perfect notions of human,

counting the months lost to stillness.

It is only in the outburst of violence

that I may find peace.

I am not looking for you to come

and bridal my tempest, merely hoping

that you can meet my shock of lightning streaking across the sky

with your own clap of earth trembling thunder.

So you must understand my disappointment

when I managed to unhinge my jaw

and snake-swallow you entirely with such ease

that I barely thought twice

about what bones might get stuck in my gut.

You were all talk with no punch,

all tomato juice and not a slight tickle of bloody.

I had hoped for anything but a lamb to take to slaughter

even as you wrapped the leash around you own neck

without my prompting.

You are cornflakes, boy.

You had no idea that this battle would take your legs,

that I would sink your eyes into star-filled oceans

and you could never look at other women without seeing me.

I will ruin you.

You will find my face in every turn,

my name ringing past your throat,

you will follow me blindly,

haunting yourself with the memory of my lips.

Originally performed on 3/28/11

Originally written on 7/26/2010

Endlessly Edited.

celebration

acid and fire and sleet and spit and trees and rain and walks on the beach and heading nowhere and laughter and plantains and feet and numbness and crying and waking up and watching stars travel and coffins and paths and clothing and colors and the word yes and eyes watching and parents and rules and religion and anarchy and simplicity and curry and movies and take out and dumb people and the rate of motion expressed as distance over time and drugs and calico cats and coffee grounds and stories and marshmallows and toothpaste and breezes and orange juice and good morning hello i love you and i'll never forget the look on your face and blooming flowers and listening to something new and trains and dolphins and grammar school and tickling and cold tile and this is just the beginning of all that you know in one moment and this is what surrounds you and this is today tomorrow yesterday and this cannot fade and this is here and this is now and this is you and this is yes and yes is life.


my thoughts are scrambled eggs that i made in a pot with a fork. hope springs eternal. a wish can only come true if you live long enough to forget your expectations.

it starts with a bang.


Originally performed 2/24/11
Originally written on 10/15/08

The Sound. (Part 3)

I tripped over my own shoelace while I wondered what you were staring at. And it made me frustrated at the time that you didn't say anything, but only now do I realize you were trying to tell me with your eyes.

And talking without listening is a way to say you remember the past instead of hearing me now. Because losing that small anchor you had means that you cannot go back, even when you know the truth.
The places and people and things, all these proper nouns (now-ns) you hold in your heart, are long gone outside of you. Everything you have seen will live in you for as long as you have loved it and continue to do so. You cannot be lost from it. Not ever.

But it seems that no matter how far across the world I reach, you will keep looking at something else, at some other warning sign. And still, even in this isolation, I hope you feel all the warmth I have for you. I want you to do and get the best.

I hope, someday in a fairly distant future, I may be allowed to speak at your wake or throw dirt on your coffin. And then I will know how just peacefully you rest.

Originally performed on 1/27/11

Originally written on 3/29/09

The Size. (Part 2 of 3)

I run into this kind of problem all the time. I cannot sleep at night because I oversleep in the morning. Or perhaps vise versa.
The silence shared with one person is screaming about sadness while a loud concert with someone else is so peaceful.

It's just the little things you have to really watch for, all of them can speak in echos that count frequencies in the thousands and depths that no one has the strength to see. The way you can miss someone so new to your life or feel the way a memory plays out even when the sensation has passed.

These are just the small parts that speak so loudly. So when your eyes splinter your vision into a million sights and chairs become mountains, you'll learn to navigate your way to the shore and calm yourself before walking away again.

Originally performed on 1/27/11

Originally written on 3/29/09

The Shape. (Part 1 of 3)

There is something clear to me.
Part of it is that you haven't gotten it yet.
Another part is that I see that you're not ready to, but you want it.
I wonder if you have this clarity in a different way, though. Like seeing what you know I'm not ready to see.
It is a shame this misunderstanding is actually an inability to communicate something so subtle and so obvious.

When it comes to it, there are feelings and motions that I cannot begin to narrate so I make do with what I can. In the meantime, I hope that someone will pick up on the subtext of it all.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I want to know telepathy. I want to speak in measures and notes and heartstrings. I wish you could feel what I am feeling because I think it would mean so much more that way.

Originally performed on 1/27/11

Originally written on 3/29/09

Compulsive

I keep checking the mail.
Looking for a package I know will never arrive, because no one is going to send it. But I just keep checking to see if the courage has been gathered for anyone else but me to shout out words into the rain. I'm singing out my life story and I'm wondering if anyone can hear me. And I'm pretty sure I'm being heard, but I'd like someone to shout back and tell me they think I'm doing well enough and could be on TV one day. I'm blasting my radio with my favorite song and I'd like to see if anyone else will make a fool of themselves with me. Because I'm dancing like an idiot in the supermarket and I'll always be doing funny things if it'll get a smile on someone's face.

I keep going out of my way to make a scene. And maybe it's not the best idea I can have, but I'm digging my nails in until someone screams out with an actual reaction. I'd like to hear a response filled with opinions and thoughts. I'd like to know if my being forward makes others uncomfortable or gives me freedom. My freedom to do the extraordinary will always be a free invitation for others to join in.

So when I ask what you thought of what I did, it isn't because I want to hear praise. I want to hear you. So come grab my hands and dance down the dairy aisle with me. I want to feel someone else screaming lyrics in the car seat next to me, I want to lose my voice between the raindrops. I want to open the mailbox and have something outrageous come flying into my world.


Originally performed 1/20/11
Originally written on 11/12/06

common knowledge

I am mining in my history to find that simple nugget I can sell to someone. Perhaps I can just keep trading up and find something worth a lifetime of searching. It doesn't have to mean a thing to anyone else other than me, so when I find it, I'll know.

But until then, I've just been looking at what I've done. I hope that I can uncover something that was accidentally great or subtly indicative of genius. I'll bring it out into the light and expand upon it. Or maybe just show it off to people who haven't seen anything like it before.

The truth is, I won't find silver or diamonds in my history, only rackety old buildings filled with dust. In all reality, and all realities, those places are abandoned for a reason. One cannot create a masterpiece by piecing together one's individual failures. The past can only teach you, it cannot build you.

There is no possible way to make gold out of cobwebs.


Originally performed 1/13/11
Originally written on 10/12/08

"Under an '88 Cavalier I go..."

It feels like it's been days since yesterday.
So much has happened without a lot happening.
So little crazy with so much thought.

I'm de-cluttering things.
It feels so good to look forward.

Stereo in the Kitchen

it is when you begin to apologize that you know you may be in trouble...

"Ennui unbridled, let's talk to kill the time.
How many styles did you cycle through before you were mine?
And it's been a while since we went wild and that's all fine,
But we're sleepwalking through this trial,
And it's really a crime...it's really criminal"

Everything was awash in orange
and our mouths were filled with grins.
The table would morph into a new mess each night
and the furniture would tumble down the stairs.
We could walk into each other's houses,
drink a glass of water and keep walking.
The sky protected us when we played basketball in the dark
and candy on our tongues could melt anything away.

Long drives and drunken lost living rooms,
dark hallways and loud basements filled with sleeping people,
a television kissing you goodnight
and a kitchen sink to wake you in the morning.

To name the things that changed you
is to remember who you are
and if it's the difference between
the hole in my diary or the clippings of my soul,
I'll carve something righteous out
just to tell these stories again.

Some love stories were never meant to be sold to Hollywood.
Or to last.



Note: This is a summary of the events of last fall and the feelings that went with it. I lost a job and a friend last December, neither of which would want me back. The love story is not of romance in this situation but an idealized adoration for a group that was family. I had previously referenced death before things began to fall apart not thinking I could lose this.
In short---last October was a lot of fun and I'll really miss it.


Originally written on 10/20/09

Still Life

An edit of this. Feedback is thoroughly encouraged. Criticism extremely welcome.

Eons have passed since we walked through that green maze to bronze fields.
Yet I have visited our park so many times in my thoughts,
with the heaviness of death hiding so close to my heart,
it would seem as though it was only yesterday since we were walking side by side.

With open eyes and bare feet,
the music of the air spilled into our ears
and we swayed like stalks of wheat.

Under the blue autumn sky,
I can still hear all of the words you ever spoke
echoing through the blades of grass.

We were not silent then;
we were not patient
and there was no need to be, either.
Our souls touched and grew inside one another.

I can only dig down so far
to find where there is a difference between us.
It would not matter if you lived in any other place,
if I could not see you with my eyes.
We were born to meet each other and live to learn.
(Perhaps if we had never met I may have died?
What about you?)

If my legs could carry me,
I would run.
If you could open your mouth,
you would conduct symphonies.

It was so simple for us.
We were creating worlds by discovering what already existed.
We were flourishing in the void.
We were making peace by not needing one another.

My only fears for you are that fear would get in the way of any life worth living.
That something could paralyze you beyond ever
understanding or experiencing the most necessary affairs.

Waves passed and oceans flew,
time churned and next thing I knew
you were walking away from me.

The crisp air hit my lungs and I decided this wouldn't be when I chased after anyone.
I was tired of walking so far North
that I forgot where the beach lay.
When I was at your place
I never knew which way was home.
I got so comfortable in your bed
I began to dislike my own skin.

Four years ago I might not have known any better,
but four years from now I might say the same thing.

I take a deep breath and plunge in.

---maybe I'll find you after all.

affirmation/prayer/love

Know that you are beautiful and wonderful;
nothing could ever hurt you or harm you.
You will win out in the end,
with that triumph in your chest
and a gleam in your eye.
There isn't a single soul that could stand in your way
or anyone that can waste your time of day:
you choose what you see
you gain what you need to learn.

Know these truths and be free
smile and live happily.

The Only Certainty...

...in this life, is that it will end. Every other concept is up to you to perceive.

It was only yesterday that we walked across bronze fields with open eyes and bare feet. The music of the air spilled into our ears and we swayed like stalks of wheat. Our souls touched and grew inside one another. I can only dig so far down deep to find where there is a difference between us. It would not matter if you lived in any other place, if I could not see you with my eyes. We were born to meet each other and live to learn. My only fears for you are that fear would get in the way of any life we could live.

Yet I have visited our park so many times in my thoughts, with the heaviness of death hiding so close to my heart. Four years ago I might not have known any better, but four years from now I might say the same thing. (Perhaps if we had never met I may have died? What about you?) Even under the blue autumn sky, I can hear all of the words you ever spoke echoing through the grass. We were not silent then, we were not patient and there was no need to be, either. If my legs could carry me, I would run. If you could open your mouth, you would conduct symphonies. It was so simple for us. We were making peace by not needing one another.

Waves passed and oceans flew, time churned and next thing I knew you were walking away from me. The crisp air hit my lungs and I decided this wouldn't be when I chased after anyone. I was tired of walking so far North that I forgot where the beach lay. When I was at your place I never knew which way was home. I got so comfortable in your bed I began to dislike my own skin. I take a deep breath and plunge in---maybe I'll find you after all.

A word.

"Never have I not existed,
nor you, nor these kings;
and never in the future
shall we cease to exist."

more to come.

the art of blue...

there is still so much more to experience.

interlude.

of all the people on the planet that i could say something to, i will never stop having news for you.


"this is the end, beautiful friend. this is the end, my only friend, the end."

listen to something beautiful.

Well, every thing is a metaphor for something, right? And you can make one for anything...

New writing soon.


Happy New Year.

Idea.

I feel like I'm a "writer" simply because I can't quiet the voices in my head.

Because I can't shut the fuck up.

Weird thought, right?

Goldfish

It's an unspeakable feeling that comes from the depths. We can't articulate it any other way than the simplest of words and we know those won't suffice.

This goes beyond the body yearning for another one to be close.
Beyond worry or doubt or fear.
Like a steady beat, it rings true all the time.
Even after an angry word or a step in the wrong direction.

Every time I tell you, I feel like you immediately forget
and you then walk all over me
oblivious to every step.

My dear, you could not ruin me if you tried. (Even tears dry up.)

But for now, I'll tell you the simple delusional truth:

I love you and there's nothing I can do about it.

Reflection

He is my Ganesh
And together we are painting the walls blue.
The color of clarity.
Instead of knocking down the walls entirely,
but still recreating the sky no one else can see.
This is about the brevity of sainthood,
or the fear of happiness.
Because the questions we're asking aren't:
"What could you lose?"
or "what will you gain?"
But more of a quiet: "What could you possibly be missing?"
I need not so much a smile
as I need a gentle nod.
Just enough reassurance to move forward
without the push of a stroked ego.

A Study of Surrealism

I want to blame the exhaustion, but the truth of the matter is that I'm crying like a child because I'll miss you and everything is going to fall apart.

I've missed people before. The way that a finger misses the weight of a gaudy ring by keeping a phantom buzz on the skin.
But I'm missing you in a different way. The way my grandmother's boyfriend misses the use of his arms. You don't realize how absolutely necessary your muscles are until you need to do something simple like scratch your nose.

My second confession is that missing you wouldn't be nearly as bad if it weren't clear to me how much everyone else that I already long for will miss you too. It makes me want to turn off the television I've been watching in my head. It just broadcasts reruns of emotions trying to rip apart the screen. Everyone else's feelings are projected onto me and all of it adds up to missing someone I barely know, crying until tears can't come anymore, and feeling a fire lit within me that I seem to have forgotten.

If only I could wake myself up from this dream, I feel like I could get others to run alongside me the same way you do.