Photographica
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Friday, January 28, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
deep fry in a shallow pan
my heart is open this morning
cleansed of yesterdays shit and polished with a fine wax
I hope it never comes back
but it more than likely will
Its already 2 o'clock, but I just woke up and its time to cook breakfast
bacon and eggs
like every morning
gotta have orange juice
coffee too -black. no sugar.
Bacon looks beautiful in the frying pan
popping and sizzling
curling up like lace on a girl's dress, or locks of hair, a rose.
sometimes I spend years staring into the pan
waiting and watching for something
and it stares back
crackling as it boils
it spits hot oil on my arm over the low outer rim
no protection
like burning acid
but my heart feels nothing
thick skin I guess
or am I still sleeping....
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
solemn note at the gates
the truth is
sometimes
I wish I just didn't exist
but thats just too damn depressing to accept
if I believe that I would just whither away
gone
like a magic trick in a show
rabbit in the hat
cut the girl in half
there'll be nothing but what everyone thought of me
and I cant have that
because you're all wrong
I've got more to say
and maybe you don't understand
and maybe I still need some work
so I think I'll stay
for a while at least
but I'm not paying any rent
or signing any contracts
life doesn't give any guarantees
so why should I?
maybe I'll just stop smoking cigarettes
shit storm
mornings are for psychos. even they know that, only they don't admit to being psychos.
I for example am a different type of psycho, in that I am self-aware of my own psychotic behavior. as far as I am concerned, this justifies any and all mistakes I might make throughout my lifetime.
In place of an obnoxious alarm to wake me up this morning, I was instead brought to consciousness by an obnoxious headache and rutheless stomach pains. that's malt liquor for you. these first impressions, I knew, were bound to influence the rest of my day in the same fashion as they brought me into it. It were as though I could see into my future. and all I saw was shit and white snow. yes, today was the day for a blizzard, thought Mother Earth as she feindishly stabbed pins into a voodoo doll of yours truly. today was also meant to be a busy day for me, as far as having a lot of shit to do, and the only day this week I could borrow Dave's car (Dave lived next door in 12b) because every other day he worked and needed it to get around.
so I got Dave's keys anyway and plowed through the acres of snow like a shark in minnow waters. snow never had it worse. it was a slaughter.
anyway, after going to the DMV, cashing my collection of old paychecks and getting some more malt liquor to feel like shit tommorow, all that was left was to make a payment on my fine. nevermind what the charges were. I did it. HAPPY?
I walked inside, fought through the mongrel slimeballs, the drag queens and the snot-nosed, mullet-haired juveniles just to wait in line with even more putrid smelling criminals. I was one of them.
all that waiting and smelling and choking in line, only to find a parking ticket on Dave's car when I got outside. I saw the cop who put it there too, and by the looks of her she belonged inside with the rest of us. I thought about turning around and yelling some obscene words like, "Bitch!" or, "Officer Cunt" but I figured since it was Dave's car I'd lay off.
Finally there was nothing to do. and for some odd reason, which remains unknown to me, I was getting anxious. I was bored. I remembered I had a lot of spare change in my coat pocket and decided to go cash it at the coin machine in the grocery store. by now the banks were closed. there was nothing better to do.
Almost 35 dollars in change! what to spend it on. what to buy. across the isles was the new beer cooler department with a cafe area where you could drink the beer. my eyes brightened. if I had a tail it would have perked up.
I chose a few beers and reluctantly shut the cooler. The cashier who rung me up said I had to buy food if I was drinking the beer there, that it was THE LAW. I told him I could drink it on the way home and he just stared blankly. not amused.
after I fumbled around a bit I bought a cookie. one cookie. apparently that smoothed things over with the law. " if only every prison inmate had a cookie," I thought.
I sat down at a table next to the door so I could feel the breeze, drank my beer and threw the cookie at a seeing eye dog sitting under the table perpendicular to mine. the blind girl stared in my general direction. I felt nothing.
a middle-aged security guard walking to the door stopped to ask me "aren't you a little young to be drinking at a grocery store?"
to which I replied, "aren't you a little dumb for a smart-ass?"
He walked away knowing he was defeated by someone half his age. "there goes any hope of self-confidence today," he must have thought.
I turned to the window to watch the snowstorm. It looked like shit. but somehow, I knew it was worse to be inside.
I for example am a different type of psycho, in that I am self-aware of my own psychotic behavior. as far as I am concerned, this justifies any and all mistakes I might make throughout my lifetime.
In place of an obnoxious alarm to wake me up this morning, I was instead brought to consciousness by an obnoxious headache and rutheless stomach pains. that's malt liquor for you. these first impressions, I knew, were bound to influence the rest of my day in the same fashion as they brought me into it. It were as though I could see into my future. and all I saw was shit and white snow. yes, today was the day for a blizzard, thought Mother Earth as she feindishly stabbed pins into a voodoo doll of yours truly. today was also meant to be a busy day for me, as far as having a lot of shit to do, and the only day this week I could borrow Dave's car (Dave lived next door in 12b) because every other day he worked and needed it to get around.
so I got Dave's keys anyway and plowed through the acres of snow like a shark in minnow waters. snow never had it worse. it was a slaughter.
anyway, after going to the DMV, cashing my collection of old paychecks and getting some more malt liquor to feel like shit tommorow, all that was left was to make a payment on my fine. nevermind what the charges were. I did it. HAPPY?
I walked inside, fought through the mongrel slimeballs, the drag queens and the snot-nosed, mullet-haired juveniles just to wait in line with even more putrid smelling criminals. I was one of them.
all that waiting and smelling and choking in line, only to find a parking ticket on Dave's car when I got outside. I saw the cop who put it there too, and by the looks of her she belonged inside with the rest of us. I thought about turning around and yelling some obscene words like, "Bitch!" or, "Officer Cunt" but I figured since it was Dave's car I'd lay off.
Finally there was nothing to do. and for some odd reason, which remains unknown to me, I was getting anxious. I was bored. I remembered I had a lot of spare change in my coat pocket and decided to go cash it at the coin machine in the grocery store. by now the banks were closed. there was nothing better to do.
Almost 35 dollars in change! what to spend it on. what to buy. across the isles was the new beer cooler department with a cafe area where you could drink the beer. my eyes brightened. if I had a tail it would have perked up.
I chose a few beers and reluctantly shut the cooler. The cashier who rung me up said I had to buy food if I was drinking the beer there, that it was THE LAW. I told him I could drink it on the way home and he just stared blankly. not amused.
after I fumbled around a bit I bought a cookie. one cookie. apparently that smoothed things over with the law. " if only every prison inmate had a cookie," I thought.
I sat down at a table next to the door so I could feel the breeze, drank my beer and threw the cookie at a seeing eye dog sitting under the table perpendicular to mine. the blind girl stared in my general direction. I felt nothing.
a middle-aged security guard walking to the door stopped to ask me "aren't you a little young to be drinking at a grocery store?"
to which I replied, "aren't you a little dumb for a smart-ass?"
He walked away knowing he was defeated by someone half his age. "there goes any hope of self-confidence today," he must have thought.
I turned to the window to watch the snowstorm. It looked like shit. but somehow, I knew it was worse to be inside.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
the man downstairs
Billy was writing in the room next-door to his. You could hear the keyboard clicking from outside, like chattering teeth.
It was late. Billy always wrote late at night; it was calm and cool and no one bothered him. Almost as if he was the only person on earth, or at least he liked to think so.
The door creeked open. "Billy?"
The voice shattered Billy's concentration like glass. He closed his eyes in memory of the peace and quiet he once had.
"What is it kate?" His eyes still closed and head hung down like he'd died at that precise moment, but could
somehow still be annoyed.
"what're you doing in here? its 4 o'clock in the morning."
"I'm praying to the devil."
"thats not funny Billy. Why don't you come to bed?"
" I will," he said.
"But first I have to finish this. Me and the man downstairs have an agreement and I have to keep my end of the bargain or I'm a dead man."
"Jesus, Billy! what the fuck are you even talking about!? The devil? Come on, I work in the morning."
"Then you should get some rest. You look tired."
That one really pissed her off. She told Billy to fuck off and slammed the door, which somehow snapped his concentration back in order. Billy thought to himself out loud, "at least she slammed the door."
three hours later, Billy was passed out over his computer, breathing beer stink all over it and slobbering too.
Someone started pounding on the door.
After a while, Billy got up and staggered to the door like a zombie to a fresh pot of brain stew, cleared his throat and, in his raspy morning voice, asked who was there.
No answer.
"Who the fuck is it?!" he yelled.
"who else would it be?" said the voice from the other side.
"Jeff, from the ground floor. Do we still have a deal?"
Billy zombie-staggered back to the computer room, passing kate who was woken up from the knocking, grabbed some papers out of the printer, back to the door and slid them underneath.
"You have the money?" Billy asked.
Two 20 dollar bills slid through to Billy's side. He had a smile on his face. "Its been a pleasure," he said. and walked up to his room to sleep.
"who was that Billy?" kate asked.
He closed his eyes one last time against his pillow, yawned, and said in a whisper,
"The man downstairs."
It was late. Billy always wrote late at night; it was calm and cool and no one bothered him. Almost as if he was the only person on earth, or at least he liked to think so.
The door creeked open. "Billy?"
The voice shattered Billy's concentration like glass. He closed his eyes in memory of the peace and quiet he once had.
"What is it kate?" His eyes still closed and head hung down like he'd died at that precise moment, but could
somehow still be annoyed.
"what're you doing in here? its 4 o'clock in the morning."
"I'm praying to the devil."
"thats not funny Billy. Why don't you come to bed?"
" I will," he said.
"But first I have to finish this. Me and the man downstairs have an agreement and I have to keep my end of the bargain or I'm a dead man."
"Jesus, Billy! what the fuck are you even talking about!? The devil? Come on, I work in the morning."
"Then you should get some rest. You look tired."
That one really pissed her off. She told Billy to fuck off and slammed the door, which somehow snapped his concentration back in order. Billy thought to himself out loud, "at least she slammed the door."
three hours later, Billy was passed out over his computer, breathing beer stink all over it and slobbering too.
Someone started pounding on the door.
After a while, Billy got up and staggered to the door like a zombie to a fresh pot of brain stew, cleared his throat and, in his raspy morning voice, asked who was there.
No answer.
"Who the fuck is it?!" he yelled.
"who else would it be?" said the voice from the other side.
"Jeff, from the ground floor. Do we still have a deal?"
Billy zombie-staggered back to the computer room, passing kate who was woken up from the knocking, grabbed some papers out of the printer, back to the door and slid them underneath.
"You have the money?" Billy asked.
Two 20 dollar bills slid through to Billy's side. He had a smile on his face. "Its been a pleasure," he said. and walked up to his room to sleep.
"who was that Billy?" kate asked.
He closed his eyes one last time against his pillow, yawned, and said in a whisper,
"The man downstairs."
Thursday, January 20, 2011
it hurts me
and its killing you lightly
to fight a white dove with fright
so lets freak out tonight
and fake true love
and follow fall leaves
-wallow in trees and free our memories there
but theives,
their cherries are too sour to swallow
and they have no berries to bare
so keep chasing your seminary fairies
spend days in faded prayers and fool cemeteries
and I'll drown the pool with drops of our dreams
and dim the light
as fire fights the night with steam
and its killing you lightly
to fight a white dove with fright
so lets freak out tonight
and fake true love
and follow fall leaves
-wallow in trees and free our memories there
but theives,
their cherries are too sour to swallow
and they have no berries to bare
so keep chasing your seminary fairies
spend days in faded prayers and fool cemeteries
and I'll drown the pool with drops of our dreams
and dim the light
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Paper-cut in a World of Wounds
never thought i'd say it
but i
heard you on the radio today
saying naughty things about the way
we stayed together
and never strayed
well now its all gray and faded
and every inch i took away
is just another thing you traded
so say kind words of me to who you thought our kids could be
and tell them how we dropped the ball
and the hope we had
if any at all
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Formaldehyde
all your burdens under lock and key
reach the branch under the branch under me
to catch the catcher in the rye
his glowing eyes swallow butterflies-
-who flew a shot in the shallow vein
but the bloodstain clotted
a formaldehyde shot in the brain
nothing else gets the fresh-air flooded
reach the branch under the branch under me
to catch the catcher in the rye
his glowing eyes swallow butterflies-
but the bloodstain clotted
a formaldehyde shot in the brain
nothing else gets the fresh-air flooded
Monday, January 17, 2011
SeQuela
Dirty clothes, dishes, empty beer bottles, pills, torn pages from notebooks and scattered half-read books lay butterflied with arched bindings; the front and back covers fall and curve upwards to imitate the shape of a W.
Sometimes I wonder how I can live in such filth, disgusting trash ridden atmosphere, sometimes there’s even a smell. But then I look at those empty bottles, those torn pages and books and see good people. Books can be too much like people, it scares me. Looking one right in the face, right through the eyes. Its like a staring contest for hours, relentlessly decoding wrinkles on skin, words on a page, a voice. Maybe books are like people, and maybe that’s why so many of mine are unfinished. I’m afraid they will hurt me too....
Sometimes I wonder how I can live in such filth, disgusting trash ridden atmosphere, sometimes there’s even a smell. But then I look at those empty bottles, those torn pages and books and see good people. Books can be too much like people, it scares me. Looking one right in the face, right through the eyes. Its like a staring contest for hours, relentlessly decoding wrinkles on skin, words on a page, a voice. Maybe books are like people, and maybe that’s why so many of mine are unfinished. I’m afraid they will hurt me too....
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Happy Birthday
Belated New Years resolution in light of my recent plunge into the current legal drinking age: get blackout drunk at Chuck E Cheese and scream at families, inadvertanly spitting and spilling beer everywhere. Preferebly using enough blasphemy to put Satan into a coma.
Monday, January 10, 2011
As time drifts along carelessly and indifferent, without dying, and the world gets older, and you get older, and your friends and family get older and closer to death, you start to see signs and realize some things. Call these signs from God or spirits or whatever you want, but above all call them signs of life: Mom or Dad contracts a fatal illnes, the Pope gets the new iphone, or you see someone you used to know (and hate) and they're doing better than you, take it as a sign. Your Mom and Dad won't be around forever, the Pope (and coincidentally, religion as a whole) is completely insane, and instead of focusing on what other people are doing, focus on yourself.
By the way, isn't it funny how these things come to you while you're taking a bath? Excuse me while I get this really hard-to-reach spot on my back....
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Blunt-force trauma to the ego
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