Let me round out this trio of uppers.
This was pretty funny - I was at the Rokery with Michelle; being really cool, we took books to a wine bar to sit and read, and scribble a bit. Some awkward couple kept pestering us about what she was writing - clearly, a first date that was sailing like the Titanic's maiden voyage - until we co-wrote a poem with them.
Being a dick, I sat and kept writing my own off their inspiration.
firelight
fireside
locking eyes, brushing thighs
bottle of red, bottle of whites
you don't need to be an American
to blend 'em with the blues
baby, I'm burnin' for you
but let me tell you
there is no volume here
just a chemical reaction
oxidation, burning
gasping for air
you watch 'em dance
but there's no mass
just a reaction
do you take
I do
I give up
I choose you, to give in
when
in the end
we chase bottles
because
dreams have such quick little feet
it becomes simpler
to chase
clockwork vodka Thursdays with
half price Tuesdays
waving white flags
far short of the finish line
this checkered path
is no yellow brick road
but it ends in gleaming lights
incandescent bulbs
bar light burning negative images
at the finish line, embarrassed
firelight flickers
fireside glinting off
B-cup, D-cup
hung out, given up
reds are bitter
but sweeter to quitters
ball and chain a preamble
we stack shackles on our hackles
rack our spirits
tip flasks to our dreams
slip past
their quick little feet
run all over the floor
right out the door
the silver linings
ripped out of clouds
and left in puddles
drying into the carpet
the tears dreams deferred
shhh
if you listen
you can hear the bottle pop
there in the silences
where our thoughts don't stop
but we stop caring
enough to share them
where we sit back
sip wine
suck thoughts
swallow needs
and drown our dreams
by the fire with the
firelight starlight starbright
I wish I may I wish I might
finally take flight
breathe a dream
worth chasing
through these lonely neon nights
not gone my hope not quite
since these barlights
are not bright enough
to show me the wrong
in only half-right
we might stumble outside together
I'd give you the keys
but I no longer drive
I don't try to pretend
my hands are on the wheel
on life's highway
I stay safe on the bus, desperate
trying to catch someone's eye
I choose you
let's get off together
make this moment our own
life can pass us by
fireside
drifting eyes, heaving thighs
we can mix the reds
with the whites
scream fuck dreams
and their tiny little shoes
because baby
I don't burn for you
just a chemical reaction
oxidation and smoldering ashes
girl I don't burn for you
you don't dream for me
we've got air to breathe
no gasping with no flames dancing
not this fire
just a chemical reaction
no mass, no volume
everybody talks, nobody listens
everybody hears, nobody cares
no volume, no mass
just a catechism
do you take
I do
I give up
I choose you, to give in
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
all's fair
The phrase was too rich to not plum. I've got one about math and love in the works, too, because I'm a geek. :-)
all's fair in love and war
I hear that
but I always end up
with blood on my hands
a heart shattered and smeared
all around my mouth
I guess
it was just that time of the month
for fighting
love is bloody trenches
dug all over your back
you can make it, fake it
with two bowls of sweet, sticky green
you can have that feeling, passion
of actually caring about someone
if there's enough smoke
to blot out the shrapnel
this is total war
because we belong together
we should be together
is an assassin's heart – shaped invitation
to Custer's Last Stand
where everybody's an Indian
we both end up scalped
scalloped
insides ripped out
left gasping on kitchen floors
dropped on phone calls
these are war crimes
so all's fair in love and war
because we wage this
no holds barred
mutually assured destruction
so take off your clothes
and the Geneva Conventions
because I promise war crimes
I will tie you to the bed
and fuck you screaming
I promise
I'll only waterboard you
if it means screaming for help
in the shower
I promise
the things I could do
with my tongue
you could call torture
I could slide inside you
but
I like the way your legs shake
on my cheeks
maybe that's why
I never hear the ambush
the silencers pressed
against someone else's forehead
some people
will do anything to stay alive
at all costs, they find their way
dying wrapped in someone's arms
always, buying life with someone
I've been there, done that
blown my chance
this is war – you need hope
a foxhole buddy
who watches your back
whose back you watch
who you trust
the lucky
find that someone to duck down with
because
they're ready to go out together
guns blazing
now and forever
but so many
are just looking for someone
to hide with
nobody likes facing the end alone
but when you bunker scared
with that kind of foxhole buddy
- all's fair in love and war
they may sneak undercover
searching for the sniper
with a sharper aim than you
that's a losing situation
a prisoner's dilemma
fuck or be fucked
you've seen it so many times
the best defense is a strong offense
online intelligence gathering
status update countersurveillance
and unanswered questions
you can make it
through the conversational minefields
only to miss the lipstick ambush
everything's fair
and Cupid's shock troops
are dancing twenty abreast
shaking mindless and gyrating
keeping the beat to the rhythm of the war drums
Lady Gaga, John Legend, and Bon Jovi remixes
we move divide and conquer
but this is scorched earth
scissorblade hips knifing
Nagasaki Normandy Nuremberg
all with eyes closed
all's fair in love and war
but we're just hoping
there's some way
to apologize for our behavior
all's fair in love and war
I hear that
but I always end up
with blood on my hands
a heart shattered and smeared
all around my mouth
I guess
it was just that time of the month
for fighting
love is bloody trenches
dug all over your back
you can make it, fake it
with two bowls of sweet, sticky green
you can have that feeling, passion
of actually caring about someone
if there's enough smoke
to blot out the shrapnel
this is total war
because we belong together
we should be together
is an assassin's heart – shaped invitation
to Custer's Last Stand
where everybody's an Indian
we both end up scalped
scalloped
insides ripped out
left gasping on kitchen floors
dropped on phone calls
these are war crimes
so all's fair in love and war
because we wage this
no holds barred
mutually assured destruction
so take off your clothes
and the Geneva Conventions
because I promise war crimes
I will tie you to the bed
and fuck you screaming
I promise
I'll only waterboard you
if it means screaming for help
in the shower
I promise
the things I could do
with my tongue
you could call torture
I could slide inside you
but
I like the way your legs shake
on my cheeks
maybe that's why
I never hear the ambush
the silencers pressed
against someone else's forehead
some people
will do anything to stay alive
at all costs, they find their way
dying wrapped in someone's arms
always, buying life with someone
I've been there, done that
blown my chance
this is war – you need hope
a foxhole buddy
who watches your back
whose back you watch
who you trust
the lucky
find that someone to duck down with
because
they're ready to go out together
guns blazing
now and forever
but so many
are just looking for someone
to hide with
nobody likes facing the end alone
but when you bunker scared
with that kind of foxhole buddy
- all's fair in love and war
they may sneak undercover
searching for the sniper
with a sharper aim than you
that's a losing situation
a prisoner's dilemma
fuck or be fucked
you've seen it so many times
the best defense is a strong offense
online intelligence gathering
status update countersurveillance
and unanswered questions
you can make it
through the conversational minefields
only to miss the lipstick ambush
everything's fair
and Cupid's shock troops
are dancing twenty abreast
shaking mindless and gyrating
keeping the beat to the rhythm of the war drums
Lady Gaga, John Legend, and Bon Jovi remixes
we move divide and conquer
but this is scorched earth
scissorblade hips knifing
Nagasaki Normandy Nuremberg
all with eyes closed
all's fair in love and war
but we're just hoping
there's some way
to apologize for our behavior
the final countdown
I didn't really want to post this until it was less autobiographical.
erses from the Bible of the totally fucked
once more into the breach
one more day, and we will be released
we, we lie a lot
we have to
together, two by two
these red eyes like taillights
blown corneas, swollen veins
driver's eyes alike
they flow past blown
streaming everywhere you don't want to be
Visa flips either way, and it slides so easy
500, twice, two signatures
a white towel and a titty fuck
in a bar outside the airport
three numbers on the back
somehow, this security features
never prevents you
from taking last call
and pounding it unconscious
sixteen ounces at a time
four hours later, four lanes wide
flying red lights, two at a time
all of them staring backward bleary
glaring, hungover, hating hearing
the clock toll in the morning
five o'clock roll call
snap to attention
time to go everywhere you don't want to be
five fingers gripping the wheel
shaking aching for some baking
five fingers wrapped around the bong the glass
drink it deep
BAC will guide you to sleep
do you drink and drive?
do you really live and thrive?
is this what we live for
to barely survive until we die
these five fingers, they're slippin
I'm sippin I'm tripping I'm drinkin I'm rippin
trying to stay focused on this mission
but I'm confused, because I keep paying my dues
and every day the paper feels like old news
the whole world is cast in mindless gray hues
except those red eyes, streaming two by two
I don't know
maybe none of this is touchin' you
but I can't handle this
but I can't breathe this
I say I don't want to leave it,
but six nights a week
I'm out of it
six feet tall, he had a green throwback
a shoulder holster
scribbling deathbed thoughts at the Big Fat Greek
irony, I almost met my end in the street
but there's nothing missing, nothing mattered
no difference
six hours later
seventy-fifth at seven am
the HOVA lane officially exists
but it's so early no one's at this party
even God slept on the seventh
I'm still mainlining coffee bean cocaine
eight beats in a bar
count 'em
count 'em to keep yourself steady
at eight when you're already topped off
already been home stepped out to step off
to soar the things I can't do without
don't really need 'em, just chug 'em, just breathe 'em
nine exits
gotta hustle, gotta go
don't feel great, can't be late
hate feeling this way
hate that I don't even feel alone
maybe this is what it's like to be grown
nine exits worth of miserable red taillights
drivers' eyes alike
glaring staring hating hearing
the clock toll in the morning
five o clock fuck it all roll call
you everywhere you never wanted to be --
good things come to those who wait,
but I have never been a patient person.
Let my Toyota's tiny ten-inch speakers
bump this final countdown
nine thousand more yards
I can already see the bridge pylon
closing in like Amistad's freedom
eight legs of old fears playing mental tricks
crawling on my windshield
but I can see sanity through the slime
seven levels of hell
the darkest part of depression
the deepest secret of the bells
don't ask, don't tell
six sibling's I'll fail
all angels I hailed
I dreamt them in dreams
so I could tell them tall tales
five thousand miles
for six month spells
round trip
is more than Scherezade could fill
I slipped, I need, I miss
my baby sister's kiss
never put a razor to my wrist
but there's a beauty burning in this
four cylinders aching
four chambers in the human heart, all breaking
three seconds to impact
this is understanding in a car crash
two by two, red eye river
flows too exhausted to ask why
two hands on the wheel
look those lights in the eye
and turn to the side
do it right
everybody after's gonna know
because two by two we all flow
burning, glaring, hating, all alone
just one, all alone
it's my time
i'm sick of driving in the lines
I've lost my shine
the 59th street pylons
are lookin' mighty fine
erses from the Bible of the totally fucked
once more into the breach
one more day, and we will be released
we, we lie a lot
we have to
together, two by two
these red eyes like taillights
blown corneas, swollen veins
driver's eyes alike
they flow past blown
streaming everywhere you don't want to be
Visa flips either way, and it slides so easy
500, twice, two signatures
a white towel and a titty fuck
in a bar outside the airport
three numbers on the back
somehow, this security features
never prevents you
from taking last call
and pounding it unconscious
sixteen ounces at a time
four hours later, four lanes wide
flying red lights, two at a time
all of them staring backward bleary
glaring, hungover, hating hearing
the clock toll in the morning
five o'clock roll call
snap to attention
time to go everywhere you don't want to be
five fingers gripping the wheel
shaking aching for some baking
five fingers wrapped around the bong the glass
drink it deep
BAC will guide you to sleep
do you drink and drive?
do you really live and thrive?
is this what we live for
to barely survive until we die
these five fingers, they're slippin
I'm sippin I'm tripping I'm drinkin I'm rippin
trying to stay focused on this mission
but I'm confused, because I keep paying my dues
and every day the paper feels like old news
the whole world is cast in mindless gray hues
except those red eyes, streaming two by two
I don't know
maybe none of this is touchin' you
but I can't handle this
but I can't breathe this
I say I don't want to leave it,
but six nights a week
I'm out of it
six feet tall, he had a green throwback
a shoulder holster
scribbling deathbed thoughts at the Big Fat Greek
irony, I almost met my end in the street
but there's nothing missing, nothing mattered
no difference
six hours later
seventy-fifth at seven am
the HOVA lane officially exists
but it's so early no one's at this party
even God slept on the seventh
I'm still mainlining coffee bean cocaine
eight beats in a bar
count 'em
count 'em to keep yourself steady
at eight when you're already topped off
already been home stepped out to step off
to soar the things I can't do without
don't really need 'em, just chug 'em, just breathe 'em
nine exits
gotta hustle, gotta go
don't feel great, can't be late
hate feeling this way
hate that I don't even feel alone
maybe this is what it's like to be grown
nine exits worth of miserable red taillights
drivers' eyes alike
glaring staring hating hearing
the clock toll in the morning
five o clock fuck it all roll call
you everywhere you never wanted to be --
good things come to those who wait,
but I have never been a patient person.
Let my Toyota's tiny ten-inch speakers
bump this final countdown
nine thousand more yards
I can already see the bridge pylon
closing in like Amistad's freedom
eight legs of old fears playing mental tricks
crawling on my windshield
but I can see sanity through the slime
seven levels of hell
the darkest part of depression
the deepest secret of the bells
don't ask, don't tell
six sibling's I'll fail
all angels I hailed
I dreamt them in dreams
so I could tell them tall tales
five thousand miles
for six month spells
round trip
is more than Scherezade could fill
I slipped, I need, I miss
my baby sister's kiss
never put a razor to my wrist
but there's a beauty burning in this
four cylinders aching
four chambers in the human heart, all breaking
three seconds to impact
this is understanding in a car crash
two by two, red eye river
flows too exhausted to ask why
two hands on the wheel
look those lights in the eye
and turn to the side
do it right
everybody after's gonna know
because two by two we all flow
burning, glaring, hating, all alone
just one, all alone
it's my time
i'm sick of driving in the lines
I've lost my shine
the 59th street pylons
are lookin' mighty fine
Monday, September 20, 2010
Why Don't They Get What They Read? (ASU Freewrite)
3 minutes.
Why don’t students get what they read?
Because they don’t care
They’re more worried about what they wear
About who is and who’s not checking their hair
Even if you can stop the distraction
Prevent middle school romantic interaction
It’s not a matter of the teacher’s stare
of whether they feel the topic’s fair
It’s not a matter of want or will
It’s a matter of reading ability and skill
Of background knowledge
Of family support for college
Of already knowing some facts
having new places to hang the info like hats
Because if you lack any of that
they can read but they can’t comprehend
They can regurgitate but it’s gone in the end
Why don’t students get what they read?
Because they don’t care
They’re more worried about what they wear
About who is and who’s not checking their hair
Even if you can stop the distraction
Prevent middle school romantic interaction
It’s not a matter of the teacher’s stare
of whether they feel the topic’s fair
It’s not a matter of want or will
It’s a matter of reading ability and skill
Of background knowledge
Of family support for college
Of already knowing some facts
having new places to hang the info like hats
Because if you lack any of that
they can read but they can’t comprehend
They can regurgitate but it’s gone in the end
Highly Qualified (ASU Freewrite)
I really should post these more often - ASU is so much more amusing when I spend 5 or 10 scribbling on request, because we're supposed to "freewrite" or "brainstorm" our ideas in class.
What do I think it means to be highly qualified
I think you need the tools to tear a mind wide
To surprise and stun to make the boring fun
To take the three r’s and make ‘em grrreat
To know how to make students take the bait
You need to be able to think quick on your feet
To stand in classroom take its emotional heartbeat
To connect with the children in and out of the building
To make ‘em buy in to the school bus you’re driving
Thing is none of this can be got from books
None of this can be bought or took
You need an internal burning a yearning for turning
Minds and hearts breaking knowledge to parts
And feeding it, a chunk at a time to young minds
Like syllables separated enunciated in rhyme
Problem is, I don’t think there’s really a test for that
Unions and officials and schools duel and spat
over the expectations for those in education
the requirements to fill the teacher station
but I think they’re always gonna miss the point
I don’t think you can tell in advance who to anoint
Teacher….teacher
Healer helper knowledge preacher
It’s so many caps for a single person to fill
There’s *no* way to predict who can fit the bill
What do I think it means to be highly qualified
I think you need the tools to tear a mind wide
To surprise and stun to make the boring fun
To take the three r’s and make ‘em grrreat
To know how to make students take the bait
You need to be able to think quick on your feet
To stand in classroom take its emotional heartbeat
To connect with the children in and out of the building
To make ‘em buy in to the school bus you’re driving
Thing is none of this can be got from books
None of this can be bought or took
You need an internal burning a yearning for turning
Minds and hearts breaking knowledge to parts
And feeding it, a chunk at a time to young minds
Like syllables separated enunciated in rhyme
Problem is, I don’t think there’s really a test for that
Unions and officials and schools duel and spat
over the expectations for those in education
the requirements to fill the teacher station
but I think they’re always gonna miss the point
I don’t think you can tell in advance who to anoint
Teacher….teacher
Healer helper knowledge preacher
It’s so many caps for a single person to fill
There’s *no* way to predict who can fit the bill
Friday, September 10, 2010
le petit mort
Definitely not safe for work. :-)
they tell me that I talk about death too much
they tell me that I talk about sex too much
the darkness, the blackness, the wackness, and such
the bump and grind, sixty-nine, and two hand touch
but I get vulgar thinking bout sliding inside of the cut
about licking and nibbling and squeezin a beautiful butt
that's why my poems change up and switch so abrupt
I just like to use my tongue, because it's fun
they say that people die when they come
so I like keeping you on the edge where it's fun
so you're tottering, you're screaming, please, please
for that I'll spend hours on my knees til they bleed
so I talk about sex, and I talk about death
you know, I'm obsessed with the final gasping breath
now, my mom says I'm cocky, I say I'm confident
you say my lyrics too complex I say it's a testament
to the way that play with words, 'cause I'm a nerd
but I want you flying high like you're car-bombed Kurds
I'm always pissed that I can't fit in with the herd
so I sit putting sick sex thoughts to rhythms absurd
if I go down, I need you seeing fireworks
if I'm spitting robots, I want you goin' berserk
either way your mind's a blur 'cause I'm so good it hurts
now you want to laugh at this shit
but look out I'm killin it when I spit
and I'm not gonna quit
I'll rip bout the pit with wicked wit
and slit your clit when I (bite) up your leg a lil' bit
man, I've never got the concept of one night stands
I've got kung fu killer skills in my tongue and my hands
I guarantee, I get repeat business
cuz my tongue, my tongue, my tongue has the quickness
and it knows how to lay a slow rhythm inside
wrap it around the metaphors til the tip slips inside
if it's not my name, I don't really know what you said
your legs are wrapped rigor mortis round my head
that's why you always find teeth marks on my aureola
cuz I'm 99.9% fatal, like I'm motherfucking Ebola
but it's all good, because me, I walk a higher path
I admit that I'm weird, bet it's because of my past
but I will take you to task and rock you like Chinese math
hard as hell while I'm sipping back on a flask
cutting up drunk, in the back of the class
and serving up blood at my own mental mass
– maybe;
I am psychotic for sippin hypnotic
scribbling fit to mix death with erotic
but if you're craving sci-fi thoughts I got it
dreaming of hot sex, already taped it and shot it
just please help me find the rhythm – cuz I lost it
I wonder about fucking someone to death
is that even possible?
how does that happen?
and … could it be fun?
for her, I mean
not in a Serbian, Rwanda-style
you got gang-raped to death
but in a
died of happiness
brain short-circuited
in a grand-mal seizure
composed entirely of orgasm
so powerful
your heart just stops
I wouldn't want to be the survivor
but that
could be hot
they tell me that I talk about death too much
they tell me that I talk about sex too much
the darkness, the blackness, the wackness, and such
the bump and grind, sixty-nine, and two hand touch
but I get vulgar thinking bout sliding inside of the cut
about licking and nibbling and squeezin a beautiful butt
that's why my poems change up and switch so abrupt
I just like to use my tongue, because it's fun
they say that people die when they come
so I like keeping you on the edge where it's fun
so you're tottering, you're screaming, please, please
for that I'll spend hours on my knees til they bleed
so I talk about sex, and I talk about death
you know, I'm obsessed with the final gasping breath
now, my mom says I'm cocky, I say I'm confident
you say my lyrics too complex I say it's a testament
to the way that play with words, 'cause I'm a nerd
but I want you flying high like you're car-bombed Kurds
I'm always pissed that I can't fit in with the herd
so I sit putting sick sex thoughts to rhythms absurd
if I go down, I need you seeing fireworks
if I'm spitting robots, I want you goin' berserk
either way your mind's a blur 'cause I'm so good it hurts
now you want to laugh at this shit
but look out I'm killin it when I spit
and I'm not gonna quit
I'll rip bout the pit with wicked wit
and slit your clit when I (bite) up your leg a lil' bit
man, I've never got the concept of one night stands
I've got kung fu killer skills in my tongue and my hands
I guarantee, I get repeat business
cuz my tongue, my tongue, my tongue has the quickness
and it knows how to lay a slow rhythm inside
wrap it around the metaphors til the tip slips inside
if it's not my name, I don't really know what you said
your legs are wrapped rigor mortis round my head
that's why you always find teeth marks on my aureola
cuz I'm 99.9% fatal, like I'm motherfucking Ebola
but it's all good, because me, I walk a higher path
I admit that I'm weird, bet it's because of my past
but I will take you to task and rock you like Chinese math
hard as hell while I'm sipping back on a flask
cutting up drunk, in the back of the class
and serving up blood at my own mental mass
– maybe;
I am psychotic for sippin hypnotic
scribbling fit to mix death with erotic
but if you're craving sci-fi thoughts I got it
dreaming of hot sex, already taped it and shot it
just please help me find the rhythm – cuz I lost it
I wonder about fucking someone to death
is that even possible?
how does that happen?
and … could it be fun?
for her, I mean
not in a Serbian, Rwanda-style
you got gang-raped to death
but in a
died of happiness
brain short-circuited
in a grand-mal seizure
composed entirely of orgasm
so powerful
your heart just stops
I wouldn't want to be the survivor
but that
could be hot
Monday, August 30, 2010
40s
A character sketch.
Feels more like an epitaph for a friend, at this point.
40s
a man on furlough
sliced in two
40s
Glenn Miller and the Army Air Force band
blaring out of his record player
lifeguard fatigues in a foot locker
at the head of his bed
he aches for a time when
men were men
chivalry and vinegar
piss and honor
cigarettes were homerolled
and men drove ships and sticks
he's got the annotated Sherlock Holmes
bleeding dust on his chest
muted trumpets bluesing
to the rhythm of his snoring
while his Droid charges
Droid does
and he loves it
forty more years
he'll Google it in his forearm
a man cut in two
40s
one in each hand
he laughes
smashes them on the ground
real men drink Black Velvet
on the rocks
freezer-chilled
in tight jeans
and a fist-pumping black muscle T
foot on the bumper
of his '65 Ford Fairlane
this is a bass player
the rhythm and soul of a punk band
he will kick your ass backstage
then take his girlfriend
to a nice lobster dinner
to talk Casablanca
and genetic replication
he's old school
it's not that he can't do one night stands
he just like to cuddle
sex with girlfriends
just feels better
this is the old man
who never met the nursing home
he and the old lady
still shoot geese
from their cabin on the lake
they go to church on Sundays
they get down after Bingo
and move at two miles an hour through Costco
so, so carefully
holding each other's hand
they block the entire aisle
but you smile
when you're stuck behind them
fuck it
they're too cute
this is that guy
in the 40s
kickin ass on a Saturday night
the airman on weekend leave
killing Jack and his friends
his beard
his lifejacket
his knapsack
his swimsuit
straight 40s
his cellphone
his soundsystem
his laptop
straight 40s
a century apart
and from what lies between
he kept only the best music
to jump around
because he stays in shape
he swims sprints --
and runs 40s
Feels more like an epitaph for a friend, at this point.
40s
a man on furlough
sliced in two
40s
Glenn Miller and the Army Air Force band
blaring out of his record player
lifeguard fatigues in a foot locker
at the head of his bed
he aches for a time when
men were men
chivalry and vinegar
piss and honor
cigarettes were homerolled
and men drove ships and sticks
he's got the annotated Sherlock Holmes
bleeding dust on his chest
muted trumpets bluesing
to the rhythm of his snoring
while his Droid charges
Droid does
and he loves it
forty more years
he'll Google it in his forearm
a man cut in two
40s
one in each hand
he laughes
smashes them on the ground
real men drink Black Velvet
on the rocks
freezer-chilled
in tight jeans
and a fist-pumping black muscle T
foot on the bumper
of his '65 Ford Fairlane
this is a bass player
the rhythm and soul of a punk band
he will kick your ass backstage
then take his girlfriend
to a nice lobster dinner
to talk Casablanca
and genetic replication
he's old school
it's not that he can't do one night stands
he just like to cuddle
sex with girlfriends
just feels better
this is the old man
who never met the nursing home
he and the old lady
still shoot geese
from their cabin on the lake
they go to church on Sundays
they get down after Bingo
and move at two miles an hour through Costco
so, so carefully
holding each other's hand
they block the entire aisle
but you smile
when you're stuck behind them
fuck it
they're too cute
this is that guy
in the 40s
kickin ass on a Saturday night
the airman on weekend leave
killing Jack and his friends
his beard
his lifejacket
his knapsack
his swimsuit
straight 40s
his cellphone
his soundsystem
his laptop
straight 40s
a century apart
and from what lies between
he kept only the best music
to jump around
because he stays in shape
he swims sprints --
and runs 40s
she II
On one of the summer camping trips, I had a rather me moment - we were lying around, talking in our sleeping bags. The campfire embers were long gone. But one of my friends had an aura that I had to try and capture, so I ended up in Tiny Car, scribbling the first draft by the dome light in my car.
I met this girl
with Ving Rhames eyes
see
he's the archetype of bad-ass
at that level of incredible
Zeus is a nobody
you're Mount Olympus personified
you can't really get mad
so much as reshape a gigantic smile
watch Pulp Fiction
even with the gimp
his eyes give him away
they're always laughing
I'd seen those eyes once already
but
it was a glowing green forest sprite
imagine that level of self-confidence, self-control
make it feminine
Blackberry-sized
you've got the tiniest, floating Triceratops
wrapped in a Tinkerbell suit
with manicured, slender fingers
the capacity to flatten Scandinavian forests
and the self-satisfaction
to have not even tried
the simple delicate flick
required
I found her
floating in mid-air
caught in a moment
a half-smile on her face
wings in the middle of a heartbeat
and such serene eyes
you know those fingers
could turn you to dust
the king of the jungle
sits brazen, with few predators
the queen of the forest
has the sly implacability
that comes from having none
she doesn't go medieval
she surpasses Hiroshima
at that point
you are a cloud
she never comes down
you can see it
in her Ving Rhames eyes
she has a Cheshire cat grin
and the James Brown version of funk
that belongs to 20 something women
the trademark of the international traveler
the small, tasteful, silver nose ring
a reply
to Cheshire Cat's question
“where are you going?”
the obvious answer
her natural habitat
sunshine, smiles, stories, somewhere abroad
where days start
with afternoon cookouts
on Mediterranean apartment rooftops
sun drenched, full of tomatoes and wine
they run through midnight bar crawls
dancing on a boat
that floats from bar to bar
on a river somewhere in the Czech Republic
and races to the train
to catch deep desert sunrises
this
is where she's going
all in the same orange sundress
simple
sweaty
artfully, perfectly confident
if the Cheshire cat dare ask
how will you know when you get there
she'll reply
that's hardly the point
and less than half than that
in the getting there
I met this girl
with Ving Rhames eyes
see
he's the archetype of bad-ass
at that level of incredible
Zeus is a nobody
you're Mount Olympus personified
you can't really get mad
so much as reshape a gigantic smile
watch Pulp Fiction
even with the gimp
his eyes give him away
they're always laughing
I'd seen those eyes once already
but
it was a glowing green forest sprite
imagine that level of self-confidence, self-control
make it feminine
Blackberry-sized
you've got the tiniest, floating Triceratops
wrapped in a Tinkerbell suit
with manicured, slender fingers
the capacity to flatten Scandinavian forests
and the self-satisfaction
to have not even tried
the simple delicate flick
required
I found her
floating in mid-air
caught in a moment
a half-smile on her face
wings in the middle of a heartbeat
and such serene eyes
you know those fingers
could turn you to dust
the king of the jungle
sits brazen, with few predators
the queen of the forest
has the sly implacability
that comes from having none
she doesn't go medieval
she surpasses Hiroshima
at that point
you are a cloud
she never comes down
you can see it
in her Ving Rhames eyes
she has a Cheshire cat grin
and the James Brown version of funk
that belongs to 20 something women
the trademark of the international traveler
the small, tasteful, silver nose ring
a reply
to Cheshire Cat's question
“where are you going?”
the obvious answer
her natural habitat
sunshine, smiles, stories, somewhere abroad
where days start
with afternoon cookouts
on Mediterranean apartment rooftops
sun drenched, full of tomatoes and wine
they run through midnight bar crawls
dancing on a boat
that floats from bar to bar
on a river somewhere in the Czech Republic
and races to the train
to catch deep desert sunrises
this
is where she's going
all in the same orange sundress
simple
sweaty
artfully, perfectly confident
if the Cheshire cat dare ask
how will you know when you get there
she'll reply
that's hardly the point
and less than half than that
in the getting there
synesthesia
Sitting in Adam's when he started bumping Summertime, I had to write the first draft a few weeks ago. It all went from there.
I'm synesthetic
when I hear certain things
especially music
I see colors dancing in the air
Katy Perry
I Kissed A Girl, and I Think I Like It
when I hear it
I'm seeing the Great Pyramid of Giza
in flying, speeding wallpaper patterns
colored in bright, vibrant Lisa Frank colors
neon pink, yellow and green unicorn style
I was driving when I first heard it
almost drove off the road
took almost a whole verse
before I realized
it was only a song
I see colors when I hear music
it's beautiful
I wish I could share it with you
Thrice
an alternative thrash band
they have a song
Dont Tell and we Won't Ask
spiraling, looping, speeding guitar
drawing abackground of deep purple
smoke on the water skies
granite verses written in 12-bar canyons
darkly lit
while another guitar dances
a burning pixie
leaving a glowing electric trail of yellow
tangled with the liquid light counterpart
of the singer's voice
scribbled bright green
they do a complex duet
leaping off of the cliffs
to float
dancing fire
through that deep purple dark night
until the white supernova of the chorus
comes crashing in
to bathe you in pure, white hot fire
in that moment
it feels like recognizing one of your own
that is a feeling
I wish I could share with you
synesthesia brings you so much beautiful
sometimes, nothing happens
but when it does
anything everything always beautiful
even, especially, the surprises
Sublime
Summertime
and the livin's easy
it's the colors of Louisiana nights
a purple convertible
slicing down muddy roads
through caves of golden brown stone
and dark green vibrant jungles
melancholy masochistic in the moonlight
blended in dark vinyl palette
flowing liquid in LP
slow funky bass-driven rotation
this is a scene shot in low contrast
like colors dancing
at the edges of an early Nintendo game
and I want to share it with you
because these colors swagger
they move from the hips
this is the mix
that's Buddha and Balboa
grown sexy sittin' confident grinning
Topgun of Tonight Hill
it's feeling male jaguar
just looking for some panther
knowing you'll find it
because broken people will find a way
to smash their jagged edges together
and pretend they make a whole
it's so easy to slip
when you feel like shit, 'cause
my girl spreads her lovin' all over
so you slip
and you slide
jukebox songs cost two quarters
but not the ride
on the riverboat barges
straddling the Mississippi
on this Louisiana night
the Bourbon street bars are closed
but you haven't had a last dance with mary jane
you know the cruise sinful
scandalous and evil
all the people in the dance
are young hungry sexy and hurt
it makes them dangerous and wild
it makes them fun
and Summertime
is not the soundtrack to all this
it is this
in audio video surround cerebral sound
it takes the dark cancerous yellow
the cowardice you feel
when you bury self-pity in false pride
and try to lose yourself deep inside
you say no but you know
you'll hear someone cry
desperate and eager, eager and desperate
there's a twisted power
in that dirty yellow streak
when you're sharing someone with someone
and you don't want to share
but sharing is the only way to keep someone
you've already lost
in the taking the making the pretending
the pregnant green jealous pain
turns a dirty yellow streak of confident cowardice
synesthesia
can make even that beautiful
I wish I could share that with you
I'm synesthetic
when I hear certain things
especially music
I see colors dancing in the air
Katy Perry
I Kissed A Girl, and I Think I Like It
when I hear it
I'm seeing the Great Pyramid of Giza
in flying, speeding wallpaper patterns
colored in bright, vibrant Lisa Frank colors
neon pink, yellow and green unicorn style
I was driving when I first heard it
almost drove off the road
took almost a whole verse
before I realized
it was only a song
I see colors when I hear music
it's beautiful
I wish I could share it with you
Thrice
an alternative thrash band
they have a song
Dont Tell and we Won't Ask
spiraling, looping, speeding guitar
drawing abackground of deep purple
smoke on the water skies
granite verses written in 12-bar canyons
darkly lit
while another guitar dances
a burning pixie
leaving a glowing electric trail of yellow
tangled with the liquid light counterpart
of the singer's voice
scribbled bright green
they do a complex duet
leaping off of the cliffs
to float
dancing fire
through that deep purple dark night
until the white supernova of the chorus
comes crashing in
to bathe you in pure, white hot fire
in that moment
it feels like recognizing one of your own
that is a feeling
I wish I could share with you
synesthesia brings you so much beautiful
sometimes, nothing happens
but when it does
anything everything always beautiful
even, especially, the surprises
Sublime
Summertime
and the livin's easy
it's the colors of Louisiana nights
a purple convertible
slicing down muddy roads
through caves of golden brown stone
and dark green vibrant jungles
melancholy masochistic in the moonlight
blended in dark vinyl palette
flowing liquid in LP
slow funky bass-driven rotation
this is a scene shot in low contrast
like colors dancing
at the edges of an early Nintendo game
and I want to share it with you
because these colors swagger
they move from the hips
this is the mix
that's Buddha and Balboa
grown sexy sittin' confident grinning
Topgun of Tonight Hill
it's feeling male jaguar
just looking for some panther
knowing you'll find it
because broken people will find a way
to smash their jagged edges together
and pretend they make a whole
it's so easy to slip
when you feel like shit, 'cause
my girl spreads her lovin' all over
so you slip
and you slide
jukebox songs cost two quarters
but not the ride
on the riverboat barges
straddling the Mississippi
on this Louisiana night
the Bourbon street bars are closed
but you haven't had a last dance with mary jane
you know the cruise sinful
scandalous and evil
all the people in the dance
are young hungry sexy and hurt
it makes them dangerous and wild
it makes them fun
and Summertime
is not the soundtrack to all this
it is this
in audio video surround cerebral sound
it takes the dark cancerous yellow
the cowardice you feel
when you bury self-pity in false pride
and try to lose yourself deep inside
you say no but you know
you'll hear someone cry
desperate and eager, eager and desperate
there's a twisted power
in that dirty yellow streak
when you're sharing someone with someone
and you don't want to share
but sharing is the only way to keep someone
you've already lost
in the taking the making the pretending
the pregnant green jealous pain
turns a dirty yellow streak of confident cowardice
synesthesia
can make even that beautiful
I wish I could share that with you
Friday, July 30, 2010
stolen treasures
I saw her at Reunions, it sparked a line that stuck in my head. Two days of professional development - sitting in a chair all day, bored shitless - was exactly what I needed to give it birth. Also, hella shorter - mad editing has been going on.
In the beginning
God said
let there be light
I believe in evolution
but you had me seeing God
believing in the wonder of creation
I saw proof in your smile
you were sunshine
feeding me energy
to wrap the world in flowers
love blooming in stop-action photography
you were oxygen
fueling our growth as we built lush worlds
fueling solar flare fires
burning my skin pure in your presence
cleaning cleansing
constructing starshine universes
in every moment we spent together
our kisses shone champagne supernova
the Big Bang sparking
in every molecule where our lips touched
we had heaven in our footsteps
lightning in our fingertips
we never shocked each other
– just the world
with everything we made together
the life the love the light
we brought, we made
we built stars
playing at being God, we put lightbulbs in the sky
they could burn for a million years
and scarcely scratch the surface of our fuel
and every time we kissed a star was born and flew
so an hour in your arms built universes anew
maybe that's why our sex was the way it was
holding each other close, matching breathing because
grinding sliding screaming laughing
left us lying intimate, clutching gasping
we would lie twisting to unite our light
and with our shine kill the night
so what the uneducated would call a passionate screw
was me grinding to find the light deep inside you
now, turning each other out wasn't all we were about
I just have to use sex to explain, because
that's the only way you can understand the way it was
the bliss, magnetism, Bonnie and Clyde
you feel after hours of animal sex
--twenty-six consecutive orgasms
is the feeling we had
every time we saw each other
every time I saw her eyes
every time I heard her laugh
and then I slipped.
I had one little thought
one blasphemous idea
you disappeared, guaranteed to return
asked me, “wait”
all I could think was
could I build worlds
could I create stars
with other girls?
I wanted to keep shining light into the world
I had lost faith that you were the truth
maybe I could burn heaven with other people
--I should've seen that you wouldn't stand
for me keeping false idols before you.
Now I can't sleep
I lie drowning in barren worlds
choking on nothing in empty riverbeds
except once a year
when the sun shines soft again on my skin
and the breeze touches my lips
you're the reason
it's always sunny in Philadelphia
but every single moment I spend in your presence
is a stolen treasure, and I can count those seconds
Hell is an existence apart from God
you can see Her, just out of reach
you burn frozen, knowing what you're missing
with your hand in mine, I used to play God
now we don't even speak
my hand has a full dance card, but
I only go to church to steal the wafers
I pity people who chase rainbows
pots of gold are nothing
I used to ride the dawn
to plant diamonds and platinum in the sky
I go camping
so I can lie back
and count the memories
I don't need a map
to find our golden stolen pirate treasures
-- they’re the reason you can see at night
In the beginning
God said
let there be light
I believe in evolution
but you had me seeing God
believing in the wonder of creation
I saw proof in your smile
you were sunshine
feeding me energy
to wrap the world in flowers
love blooming in stop-action photography
you were oxygen
fueling our growth as we built lush worlds
fueling solar flare fires
burning my skin pure in your presence
cleaning cleansing
constructing starshine universes
in every moment we spent together
our kisses shone champagne supernova
the Big Bang sparking
in every molecule where our lips touched
we had heaven in our footsteps
lightning in our fingertips
we never shocked each other
– just the world
with everything we made together
the life the love the light
we brought, we made
we built stars
playing at being God, we put lightbulbs in the sky
they could burn for a million years
and scarcely scratch the surface of our fuel
and every time we kissed a star was born and flew
so an hour in your arms built universes anew
maybe that's why our sex was the way it was
holding each other close, matching breathing because
grinding sliding screaming laughing
left us lying intimate, clutching gasping
we would lie twisting to unite our light
and with our shine kill the night
so what the uneducated would call a passionate screw
was me grinding to find the light deep inside you
now, turning each other out wasn't all we were about
I just have to use sex to explain, because
that's the only way you can understand the way it was
the bliss, magnetism, Bonnie and Clyde
you feel after hours of animal sex
--twenty-six consecutive orgasms
is the feeling we had
every time we saw each other
every time I saw her eyes
every time I heard her laugh
and then I slipped.
I had one little thought
one blasphemous idea
you disappeared, guaranteed to return
asked me, “wait”
all I could think was
could I build worlds
could I create stars
with other girls?
I wanted to keep shining light into the world
I had lost faith that you were the truth
maybe I could burn heaven with other people
--I should've seen that you wouldn't stand
for me keeping false idols before you.
Now I can't sleep
I lie drowning in barren worlds
choking on nothing in empty riverbeds
except once a year
when the sun shines soft again on my skin
and the breeze touches my lips
you're the reason
it's always sunny in Philadelphia
but every single moment I spend in your presence
is a stolen treasure, and I can count those seconds
Hell is an existence apart from God
you can see Her, just out of reach
you burn frozen, knowing what you're missing
with your hand in mine, I used to play God
now we don't even speak
my hand has a full dance card, but
I only go to church to steal the wafers
I pity people who chase rainbows
pots of gold are nothing
I used to ride the dawn
to plant diamonds and platinum in the sky
I go camping
so I can lie back
and count the memories
I don't need a map
to find our golden stolen pirate treasures
-- they’re the reason you can see at night
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
serve and protect
they sent me here to give my thoughts on SB1070
looking at the crowd, I bet you’re gonna be mad at me
but I promise everything I do is to serve and protect
even melting down the cross to wrap around your neck
it’s for the greater glory of the red white and blue
it’s for the greater good of each and every one of you
Now, I’ve heard ‘em cry that no humano es ilegal
but you’ve nothing to fear unless you’re a crim-i-nal
I promise, I understand your struggles and your troubles
stringing stones together to build life out of rubble
you want to come to the land of opportunity to succeed
so you can get a job and fill the mouths you gotta feed
but if you really want to prosper on our side of the border
I don’t think it’s strange that you submit to law and order
we’ve got this beautiful rhythm to our system
all these legal ways but instead you chose to miss ‘em
to duck through the desert in the dark of night
to break in, to trespass, to ignore what’s legal and right
so, of course it’s one of my deepest happiest desires
to build a reinforced concrete wall with razor wires
one full of spots where the guards stick guns out of slots
because they believe in the beauty of preemptive shots
give me your sick, your poor, and your huddled masses?
fuck that, we’ll send you back out on your sorry asses
none of this is fine print to be read with glasses
it’s a front page fuck you from all of our classes
Lady Liberty’s old news, we’re sick of a raging sewer
streaming in, liberty is for a country with fewer
people to keep in line, so thank God for Jan Brewer
go ahead and whine, the truth about the bill
was clear majority support, it was the people’s will
we just chose to speak through our movers and shakers
we see no problem with making people carry their papers
because you’re right, no humano es ilegal
you’ve only got something to fear if you’re a crim-i-nal
because everything that I do is to serve and protect
even when I melt down the cross to wrap around your neck
it’s all to protect the red white and blue
it’s all to protect each and every one of you
so these papers, they’re just another step
another clue to what we’ll come up with next
soon the mall entrance will have retinal scans
the better, my dear, to keep you in safe hands
the better to identify everyone, to know who’s where when
the better to keep track of the disease of men
the better to bring about greater peace and prosperity
if you don’t believe me let me bring clarity
there is absolutely nothing to be afraid of, see
only the bad, the naughty, the evil
need to fear laws that protect the people
like only those on steroids worry about Bud Siegel
like only the damned hate the sight of the steeple
if you’re a real American with nothing to hide
you know there’s right from wrong, and about picking sides
you’ll have no problem when we can just look in your mind
when we don’t need to ask questions to try and find
out whether or not you slipped up and crossed the line
we won’t even need to use pain or force to make you scream
we’ll just watch you sleep, and follow you in your dreams
you won’t have a problem with us invading your privacy
if a good American is all you’re ever trying to be
democracy and dignity are not necessarily synonymous
giving everyone freedom and voice is a little ominous
do you really think we’ll ever find the answer to cancer
if freedom keeps the beat for dissension’s dancers?
no, so it’s best to kill the commies greens and Panthers
diversity and thought are fine, but peace and harmony are sublime so quit your crying, salute the flag and get in line
because everything we do is to serve and protect
even if you find our hands wrapped around your neck
it’s all to protect the glory of the red white and blue
it’s all for the greater good of each and every one of you
and I know that peace and order rule your desires
so you’re surprisingly comfortable with limits and wires
Patrick Henry once screamed out, liberty or death
and the people cried back for his dying breath
the ACLU likes to pretend that things have changed
but I know how you really feel about their silly complaints
how grating it is when people go against the grain
I promise, we’ll get em - those who believe in redistribution
gays straying from the Good Book or those fighting pollution
malcontents who whine about the mistreatment of labor
the bleeding hearts who see a bum and think to save her
for those of you on the other side, I see you getting bolder
I see you thinking about taking my head off my shoulders
but let me promise you - our. steel. is. colder.
you’re human filth, and we’re licensed government soldiers
you can’t cry about your rights with a shattered jaw
and that’s the least of your worries if you mess with the law
so here’s your last warning- if you see the boys in blue comin’
you’d better get out and you better hit the ground running
because by the time we hit your door, we’re gonna be gunnin
we’ve got our brothers in the black suits
the undercover guys hiding out in track suits
we all keep tabs on the rebels, malcontents, and youth
so please, there’s no pressure, there’s no need to think
you can sit back, kick back, relax, and pour up a drink
the only thing we ask is that you please, don’t make a stink
please don’t fret and worry about the potential cost
just grab the control, turn your TV on and your mind off
in fact, tune in to the latest version of Lost
the newest six season reason to keep your butt in your seat
and ignoring the people who are feeling our heat
ignoring whether or not what we’re doing is right
because with a criminal blight
you need to keep the end goal in sight
and just in case that’s against your so-called principles
let me tell you, bravery and belief are situational
maybe you’ve heard of a little thing called search and seizure
maybe you’ve got a daughter, or a mother - we’ll seize her
how much waterboarding do you think they can stand
before we’re holding a recording in our hand
of all the horrible un American things you’ve never done
but for which you’re gonna pay
you don’t want to go there, I promise that it’s not fun
but you will see it our way
we’ll see how much your principles are worth
or if you’ll sacrifice ‘em to gain peace on this earth
as long as you have nothing treacherous that needs to be hid
I promise you’ve got no worries for you or your kids
just keep those ideas of liberty and privacy outta your head
Pat Henry’s dead, so you can finally sleep safe in your bed
sure, the price might be your freedom of speech and thought
sure, a couple innocent people might end up shot
but your freedom is the sacrifice that security bought
and with it, everything everything is under control
we’ll find the criminals, we’ll dig em out of their holes
see, Arizona’s getting 500 guys from the National Guard
and you know that when those boys bang, they bang hard
and in two more months we’ll have Air Force spy planes
to patrol the desert, and send the illegals home in chains
and I remember, no humano es ilegal
the only humans who have to worry are the criminals
because I promise - everything I do is to serve and protect
even if you find my hands wrapped around your neck
it’s for the greater good of the red white and blue
it’s to serve and protect …most of you
looking at the crowd, I bet you’re gonna be mad at me
but I promise everything I do is to serve and protect
even melting down the cross to wrap around your neck
it’s for the greater glory of the red white and blue
it’s for the greater good of each and every one of you
Now, I’ve heard ‘em cry that no humano es ilegal
but you’ve nothing to fear unless you’re a crim-i-nal
I promise, I understand your struggles and your troubles
stringing stones together to build life out of rubble
you want to come to the land of opportunity to succeed
so you can get a job and fill the mouths you gotta feed
but if you really want to prosper on our side of the border
I don’t think it’s strange that you submit to law and order
we’ve got this beautiful rhythm to our system
all these legal ways but instead you chose to miss ‘em
to duck through the desert in the dark of night
to break in, to trespass, to ignore what’s legal and right
so, of course it’s one of my deepest happiest desires
to build a reinforced concrete wall with razor wires
one full of spots where the guards stick guns out of slots
because they believe in the beauty of preemptive shots
give me your sick, your poor, and your huddled masses?
fuck that, we’ll send you back out on your sorry asses
none of this is fine print to be read with glasses
it’s a front page fuck you from all of our classes
Lady Liberty’s old news, we’re sick of a raging sewer
streaming in, liberty is for a country with fewer
people to keep in line, so thank God for Jan Brewer
go ahead and whine, the truth about the bill
was clear majority support, it was the people’s will
we just chose to speak through our movers and shakers
we see no problem with making people carry their papers
because you’re right, no humano es ilegal
you’ve only got something to fear if you’re a crim-i-nal
because everything that I do is to serve and protect
even when I melt down the cross to wrap around your neck
it’s all to protect the red white and blue
it’s all to protect each and every one of you
so these papers, they’re just another step
another clue to what we’ll come up with next
soon the mall entrance will have retinal scans
the better, my dear, to keep you in safe hands
the better to identify everyone, to know who’s where when
the better to keep track of the disease of men
the better to bring about greater peace and prosperity
if you don’t believe me let me bring clarity
there is absolutely nothing to be afraid of, see
only the bad, the naughty, the evil
need to fear laws that protect the people
like only those on steroids worry about Bud Siegel
like only the damned hate the sight of the steeple
if you’re a real American with nothing to hide
you know there’s right from wrong, and about picking sides
you’ll have no problem when we can just look in your mind
when we don’t need to ask questions to try and find
out whether or not you slipped up and crossed the line
we won’t even need to use pain or force to make you scream
we’ll just watch you sleep, and follow you in your dreams
you won’t have a problem with us invading your privacy
if a good American is all you’re ever trying to be
democracy and dignity are not necessarily synonymous
giving everyone freedom and voice is a little ominous
do you really think we’ll ever find the answer to cancer
if freedom keeps the beat for dissension’s dancers?
no, so it’s best to kill the commies greens and Panthers
diversity and thought are fine, but peace and harmony are sublime so quit your crying, salute the flag and get in line
because everything we do is to serve and protect
even if you find our hands wrapped around your neck
it’s all to protect the glory of the red white and blue
it’s all for the greater good of each and every one of you
and I know that peace and order rule your desires
so you’re surprisingly comfortable with limits and wires
Patrick Henry once screamed out, liberty or death
and the people cried back for his dying breath
the ACLU likes to pretend that things have changed
but I know how you really feel about their silly complaints
how grating it is when people go against the grain
I promise, we’ll get em - those who believe in redistribution
gays straying from the Good Book or those fighting pollution
malcontents who whine about the mistreatment of labor
the bleeding hearts who see a bum and think to save her
for those of you on the other side, I see you getting bolder
I see you thinking about taking my head off my shoulders
but let me promise you - our. steel. is. colder.
you’re human filth, and we’re licensed government soldiers
you can’t cry about your rights with a shattered jaw
and that’s the least of your worries if you mess with the law
so here’s your last warning- if you see the boys in blue comin’
you’d better get out and you better hit the ground running
because by the time we hit your door, we’re gonna be gunnin
we’ve got our brothers in the black suits
the undercover guys hiding out in track suits
we all keep tabs on the rebels, malcontents, and youth
so please, there’s no pressure, there’s no need to think
you can sit back, kick back, relax, and pour up a drink
the only thing we ask is that you please, don’t make a stink
please don’t fret and worry about the potential cost
just grab the control, turn your TV on and your mind off
in fact, tune in to the latest version of Lost
the newest six season reason to keep your butt in your seat
and ignoring the people who are feeling our heat
ignoring whether or not what we’re doing is right
because with a criminal blight
you need to keep the end goal in sight
and just in case that’s against your so-called principles
let me tell you, bravery and belief are situational
maybe you’ve heard of a little thing called search and seizure
maybe you’ve got a daughter, or a mother - we’ll seize her
how much waterboarding do you think they can stand
before we’re holding a recording in our hand
of all the horrible un American things you’ve never done
but for which you’re gonna pay
you don’t want to go there, I promise that it’s not fun
but you will see it our way
we’ll see how much your principles are worth
or if you’ll sacrifice ‘em to gain peace on this earth
as long as you have nothing treacherous that needs to be hid
I promise you’ve got no worries for you or your kids
just keep those ideas of liberty and privacy outta your head
Pat Henry’s dead, so you can finally sleep safe in your bed
sure, the price might be your freedom of speech and thought
sure, a couple innocent people might end up shot
but your freedom is the sacrifice that security bought
and with it, everything everything is under control
we’ll find the criminals, we’ll dig em out of their holes
see, Arizona’s getting 500 guys from the National Guard
and you know that when those boys bang, they bang hard
and in two more months we’ll have Air Force spy planes
to patrol the desert, and send the illegals home in chains
and I remember, no humano es ilegal
the only humans who have to worry are the criminals
because I promise - everything I do is to serve and protect
even if you find my hands wrapped around your neck
it’s for the greater good of the red white and blue
it’s to serve and protect …most of you
Friday, June 25, 2010
she
I think you still read this; if you do, I'm sorry for all the shit I threw your way (and down the stairs). I had a lot of shitty facets.
Peace.
in every way
she is like the ocean
her body moves
with slow sure strength
the smooth comfortable power
of thick, rolling, unstoppable waves
think of a fox, or a wolf
she is not large, or heavy
she is sinew, wire - smooth power
but mere mammals
will stop from time to time
she never does
her eyes are green
a smoked glass shade of emerald
floating on a blue-black tidal pool
of unknown depth
her hands are tiny and wise
they can creep into any crack
like water sliding under the earth
skilled with Allen wrenches
knots both nautical and rope
and butterfly knives
she has lobsters in her blood
to match
the skeletons in her closet
coastal born and desert bred
whether sand or sea
her inner ear never falters
just her inner balance
from time to time
the ocean has its tempests
moments of fleeting frantic anger
ferocious furious violent confusion
sailors know to take warning
in treacherous waters with hidden rocks
when she storms she cries with gale-force winds
not a mere scream
something more defiant
more Charlemagne than Cleopatra
and her whirlpool emeralds
alight with Greek fire
scientists don’t know the formula
for this substance that burns on water
only because they’ve never met her
but hurricanes and tsunamis
are temporary disturbances
on the surface of a thing
driven by seismic currents
miles deep
and wrapping around the globe
in her strength and resolve
there is something of that tide
always flowing within her
an unstoppable need
to keep moving
to live discover and be
to breathe
like rivers that must always run downhill
the ocean that is always moving
she heeds only the call
of sun and moon
cutting her own path through rock and earth
the ocean can wash away anything
castles continents hearts
given enough time
so she believes in love
one that she can wrap around the world
but not relationships
relationships mean partners
partners means equality
there is no match
for the ocean
this does not bother her
there is sex in her power
she claims sailors when she wants
they try to ride the ocean
but she comes quickly
and there you find her
screaming like a Siren
beckoning you to crash on her
her hips move like the tide
rolling unending
she capsizes men to ride above them
curving in her tidal power
she comes again
when you splash on her shores
you realize
that boats are at the ocean’s mercy
her nails grip
telling you what to do
the boat in the harbor
at high tide during the storm
is tied down, fastened, smashing into the dock
grinding securely in her ropes
this time
her teeth grip your shoulder
the jagged rocks on the shore
just below the surface
and this time
you can feel the ocean
rolling inside her
she slumps off like a spent wave
and sleeps heavily
the sailor wakes
to find that she has flowed on
there is no betrayal in this
though man has trouble with it
the ocean gives and it takes away
it will not heed your call
only that of the sun and the moon
flowing on, moving, breathing, living
it does because it can, because it must
some see this as flight
and think her a bird
but flight implies a running from something
and rivers may always run, sure
but she is one with the ocean
the sun burnt on her chest
it has nothing to do with the heights she takes
or the depths to which she stoops
the currents are always pushing
her on a path she does not know
perhaps it is the crushing pressure
of the ocean’s weight
bearing down upon her
a voice that says she has not done enough
that there is always more to discover
just beyond the horizon
the fish which can survive
the killing weight of the ocean
can not stand its surface
maybe she has the sense
that the same sun which calls her
is forever out of her reach
beyond the surface of the sky
maybe she is always moving
because something is always missing
maybe
sailors may travel in search of something
she may move because motion gives meaning
she may move because it’s her nature
she may move because she is nature
and if there is a reason
it is beyond our grasp
like crystal waters off tropical islands
she is beautifull
like the tropical storms they birth without warning
she seems treacherous
like frigid polar waters
she denies those who approach
like whitewater
her mind froths and churns
comfortable in the truth
that time is all she ever needs
to erode the problems which lie before her
as she heeds the call of sun and moon
flowing going living breathing
encompassing everything
and searching for what may lie beyond the horizon
the ocean never rests
and it never ends
so whatever ships may ride its waters
whatever spills may stain its surface
whatever storms may come
it is mostly calm and moving
whatever comes she pushes on
like waves
Peace.
in every way
she is like the ocean
her body moves
with slow sure strength
the smooth comfortable power
of thick, rolling, unstoppable waves
think of a fox, or a wolf
she is not large, or heavy
she is sinew, wire - smooth power
but mere mammals
will stop from time to time
she never does
her eyes are green
a smoked glass shade of emerald
floating on a blue-black tidal pool
of unknown depth
her hands are tiny and wise
they can creep into any crack
like water sliding under the earth
skilled with Allen wrenches
knots both nautical and rope
and butterfly knives
she has lobsters in her blood
to match
the skeletons in her closet
coastal born and desert bred
whether sand or sea
her inner ear never falters
just her inner balance
from time to time
the ocean has its tempests
moments of fleeting frantic anger
ferocious furious violent confusion
sailors know to take warning
in treacherous waters with hidden rocks
when she storms she cries with gale-force winds
not a mere scream
something more defiant
more Charlemagne than Cleopatra
and her whirlpool emeralds
alight with Greek fire
scientists don’t know the formula
for this substance that burns on water
only because they’ve never met her
but hurricanes and tsunamis
are temporary disturbances
on the surface of a thing
driven by seismic currents
miles deep
and wrapping around the globe
in her strength and resolve
there is something of that tide
always flowing within her
an unstoppable need
to keep moving
to live discover and be
to breathe
like rivers that must always run downhill
the ocean that is always moving
she heeds only the call
of sun and moon
cutting her own path through rock and earth
the ocean can wash away anything
castles continents hearts
given enough time
so she believes in love
one that she can wrap around the world
but not relationships
relationships mean partners
partners means equality
there is no match
for the ocean
this does not bother her
there is sex in her power
she claims sailors when she wants
they try to ride the ocean
but she comes quickly
and there you find her
screaming like a Siren
beckoning you to crash on her
her hips move like the tide
rolling unending
she capsizes men to ride above them
curving in her tidal power
she comes again
when you splash on her shores
you realize
that boats are at the ocean’s mercy
her nails grip
telling you what to do
the boat in the harbor
at high tide during the storm
is tied down, fastened, smashing into the dock
grinding securely in her ropes
this time
her teeth grip your shoulder
the jagged rocks on the shore
just below the surface
and this time
you can feel the ocean
rolling inside her
she slumps off like a spent wave
and sleeps heavily
the sailor wakes
to find that she has flowed on
there is no betrayal in this
though man has trouble with it
the ocean gives and it takes away
it will not heed your call
only that of the sun and the moon
flowing on, moving, breathing, living
it does because it can, because it must
some see this as flight
and think her a bird
but flight implies a running from something
and rivers may always run, sure
but she is one with the ocean
the sun burnt on her chest
it has nothing to do with the heights she takes
or the depths to which she stoops
the currents are always pushing
her on a path she does not know
perhaps it is the crushing pressure
of the ocean’s weight
bearing down upon her
a voice that says she has not done enough
that there is always more to discover
just beyond the horizon
the fish which can survive
the killing weight of the ocean
can not stand its surface
maybe she has the sense
that the same sun which calls her
is forever out of her reach
beyond the surface of the sky
maybe she is always moving
because something is always missing
maybe
sailors may travel in search of something
she may move because motion gives meaning
she may move because it’s her nature
she may move because she is nature
and if there is a reason
it is beyond our grasp
like crystal waters off tropical islands
she is beautifull
like the tropical storms they birth without warning
she seems treacherous
like frigid polar waters
she denies those who approach
like whitewater
her mind froths and churns
comfortable in the truth
that time is all she ever needs
to erode the problems which lie before her
as she heeds the call of sun and moon
flowing going living breathing
encompassing everything
and searching for what may lie beyond the horizon
the ocean never rests
and it never ends
so whatever ships may ride its waters
whatever spills may stain its surface
whatever storms may come
it is mostly calm and moving
whatever comes she pushes on
like waves
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Circle of Life
six hundred years ago we thought the earth was flatter
we can’t yet grasp that we just animated matter
if you’re still reading up, we are not the last chapter
when the end comes we are not what comes after
together we drive, just cruisin’ through the forest
one big caravan of the richest and the poorest
searching for a treeline that we’re never gonna find
since there’s no end to these they are not ordinary pines
for they bear not fruit, but bells
tolling the song so science seductive sells
see, we don’t like the rhythm or the beat
it reminds us we are dust beneath our feet
so the mudmen come pouring out of the hills
fighting for a time when time stands still
but for everything they bring to the table
this is one fight where they are not able
to break the circle, the bind, the ring
nothing works, not syringes, not slings
so the bells, they stay just out of our grasp
singing their song from behind Simba’s mask
one that’s counting tolling keeping time
for the moment when you get yours and I get mine
we might be stardust we might be golden
but we remain to the Circle of Life beholden
we’re fourteen billion year old carbon
we are definitely going back to the garden
still can’t grasp the fact that we just animated matter
if you’re still reading up, we are not the last chapter
when the end comes we are not what comes after
I know I’m sticking needles in dreams of immortality
but what I’m saying you should know so don’t get mad at me
I can hold it down but I’m not holding you down like gravity
you can fume and chuck your stones at the bells
when they hit the ground it’s the reason they fell
you can feel it pulling you too, back to the ground
some hate on it like it’s personally pulling them down
hate that you can see it in the old the way that they slouch
hate feeling finished going nowhere sinking in the couch
hate being pulled, back into the dust
hate being the same as the beasts and such
hate all you want but it’s a natural constant
it’s the song the rhythm of the bells meant
it holds atoms together, so molecules can exist
so we, so life, so you, can exist
that’s the rub, and the twist
why it doesn’t make sense to get pissed
it makes life possible, and it calls you back
uses you to rebuild elsewhere on evolution’s track
new improved models, a step up that ladder
something bigger and better, something nicer and badder
I think we forget that we are not the end of evolution
circles never end there’s no final revolution
though in our dreams we find the keys in our genes
no pill will ever be more than a smokescreen
science pretends to be God and claims clarity
to have found the key to the future
if we part with enough elbow grease and filthy lucre
it’s so hard to admit we’re not alpha or omega
we’re not the beginning or end
and bells will toll for mud mice and men
still can’t grasp the fact that we just animated matter
if you’re still reading up, we are not the last chapter
when the end comes we are not what comes after
so, yeah, Disney skips death in the Circle of Life
Simba’s sunrise is always falled by the night and the knife
we rise and we fall to make something else again
it’s fact that we’re all going to meet our end, my friend
I’m gonna upchuck some Chuck Palahniuk
on a long enough time line,
the life expectancy for everybody drops to zero
realize that none of this is meant to bring fear, so
don’t sit counting your pebbles but find beauty in mountains
in ebb and flow of rivers, waterfalls, and fountains
even mountains walk to the rhythm of moon tide erosion
stars shine with the promise of cosmic explosion
mortals are blessed to avoid eternity’s curse
to have a limited span that counts down from birth
mud and dust that for a time rises from the earth
with a limit granting the sweetness, passion, and worth
for some this knowledge is the apple roasting in hell
snake tongues flicking fire to the rhythm of the bells
but it’s their carol that lets me know all is well
you can’t stay so fill your days with play
put in some work, I eat shit like a fungi
but I let shit slide so I can be a fun guy
I don’t let this circle make me sing the sorrows
I know I don’t need a lot of shit
just love because I came with it
and I want to leave with it
and everything else is just borrowed
in my limited time I just want my light to shine
as I put some words to the grind
while I look for more love to make mine
because we are nothing but carbon
and we are going back to the garden
we’re just animated matter
we are not what comes after
we can’t yet grasp that we just animated matter
if you’re still reading up, we are not the last chapter
when the end comes we are not what comes after
together we drive, just cruisin’ through the forest
one big caravan of the richest and the poorest
searching for a treeline that we’re never gonna find
since there’s no end to these they are not ordinary pines
for they bear not fruit, but bells
tolling the song so science seductive sells
see, we don’t like the rhythm or the beat
it reminds us we are dust beneath our feet
so the mudmen come pouring out of the hills
fighting for a time when time stands still
but for everything they bring to the table
this is one fight where they are not able
to break the circle, the bind, the ring
nothing works, not syringes, not slings
so the bells, they stay just out of our grasp
singing their song from behind Simba’s mask
one that’s counting tolling keeping time
for the moment when you get yours and I get mine
we might be stardust we might be golden
but we remain to the Circle of Life beholden
we’re fourteen billion year old carbon
we are definitely going back to the garden
still can’t grasp the fact that we just animated matter
if you’re still reading up, we are not the last chapter
when the end comes we are not what comes after
I know I’m sticking needles in dreams of immortality
but what I’m saying you should know so don’t get mad at me
I can hold it down but I’m not holding you down like gravity
you can fume and chuck your stones at the bells
when they hit the ground it’s the reason they fell
you can feel it pulling you too, back to the ground
some hate on it like it’s personally pulling them down
hate that you can see it in the old the way that they slouch
hate feeling finished going nowhere sinking in the couch
hate being pulled, back into the dust
hate being the same as the beasts and such
hate all you want but it’s a natural constant
it’s the song the rhythm of the bells meant
it holds atoms together, so molecules can exist
so we, so life, so you, can exist
that’s the rub, and the twist
why it doesn’t make sense to get pissed
it makes life possible, and it calls you back
uses you to rebuild elsewhere on evolution’s track
new improved models, a step up that ladder
something bigger and better, something nicer and badder
I think we forget that we are not the end of evolution
circles never end there’s no final revolution
though in our dreams we find the keys in our genes
no pill will ever be more than a smokescreen
science pretends to be God and claims clarity
to have found the key to the future
if we part with enough elbow grease and filthy lucre
it’s so hard to admit we’re not alpha or omega
we’re not the beginning or end
and bells will toll for mud mice and men
still can’t grasp the fact that we just animated matter
if you’re still reading up, we are not the last chapter
when the end comes we are not what comes after
so, yeah, Disney skips death in the Circle of Life
Simba’s sunrise is always falled by the night and the knife
we rise and we fall to make something else again
it’s fact that we’re all going to meet our end, my friend
I’m gonna upchuck some Chuck Palahniuk
on a long enough time line,
the life expectancy for everybody drops to zero
realize that none of this is meant to bring fear, so
don’t sit counting your pebbles but find beauty in mountains
in ebb and flow of rivers, waterfalls, and fountains
even mountains walk to the rhythm of moon tide erosion
stars shine with the promise of cosmic explosion
mortals are blessed to avoid eternity’s curse
to have a limited span that counts down from birth
mud and dust that for a time rises from the earth
with a limit granting the sweetness, passion, and worth
for some this knowledge is the apple roasting in hell
snake tongues flicking fire to the rhythm of the bells
but it’s their carol that lets me know all is well
you can’t stay so fill your days with play
put in some work, I eat shit like a fungi
but I let shit slide so I can be a fun guy
I don’t let this circle make me sing the sorrows
I know I don’t need a lot of shit
just love because I came with it
and I want to leave with it
and everything else is just borrowed
in my limited time I just want my light to shine
as I put some words to the grind
while I look for more love to make mine
because we are nothing but carbon
and we are going back to the garden
we’re just animated matter
we are not what comes after
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
shadow of a hummingbird
it’s been said
that the only difference
between civilization and chaos
is three meals and twenty-four hours
as we slowly turn to machines
the Mike Pollans and Morgan Spurlocks
the people who believe
we should be eating local and organic food
for ethical reasons
for individual health benefits
to save the environment
to save ourselves
will be an interesting historical footnote
a record of mankind’s final frontier
most of these
health-conscious holdouts
who stick to their forks
demanding local and organic food
will be excited to upgrade
prosthetic limbs
neural implants
subdural biomechanical processors
when the latest iPhone app
is downloaded
not for our phones
but for our lithium cerebellums
granting us extra information
on the road of immortality
most homegrown slow-food advocates
will join that new society
slow-cooked grass-fed open-range pork ribs
glazed in whiskey and secret spices
will be ancient relics
of a time
when man and machine still existed
before they became dead terms
because there ceased to be a difference
before mankind became a derogatory term
to describe the holdouts
clinging to backward notions
of romanticism and mortality
this small minority
who continue to demand that their food
be local, organic, and addititve-free
will not make their demands
for health reasons
but out of a bedrock belief
in the value of natural
in the value of transient, temporary, mortal
because of some misplaced faith
in chaos
in natural improvement
natural selection
gave birth to hummingbirds
beautiful mindless vacuums
flitting flying feeding breeding
all muscle and stomach and eyes
a hundred wingbeats a second
burns a lot of calories
for such a small bit of beauty
to a society
pleasantly accustomed
to every desire
being electronically met
by cheap applications
applicable to neural implants
everybody can be Kobe
everybody can be an artist
daredevil philanthropist
astronaut scientist explorer
everybody can be a rock star
coke and groupies
champagne and flowers
in a world electronic
without traffic jams
dark corners
and fresh air
all your dreams
electronically delivered
ones and zeroes
forever
to this world
a hummingbird’s shadow
will be an increasing blight
on a brilliantly efficient future
the prices of organic of local of food
will therefore rise accordingly
testing the rate at which
the holdouts are willing to pay
and the updated are willing to tolerate
their decline
the Compton Applachia Darfurs of 2030
the war-torn crime-ridden neighborhoods
of the future
will be the home to those who refuse
all but natural food and water
who decline electronic longevity
and can afford nothing
but food
and dimly lit cockroach-infested housing
both parasites starving
equalized by their need for food
the Hoovervilles of the coming singularity
of the glorious inevitable union
of man and machine
will be updated hippie communes of the sixties
but these
will be socialist utopias by necessity
farming to keep their identity
on increasingly low rations
as prices continue to rise
the self-immolating Buddhist monks of the seventies
will reappear
trading gasoline, matches, and indignation
for slow public suicide by hunger strike
Jonestown
will crisscross the globe
as the communes give up
and swallow down the kool-aid of defeat
laced with authentic raw cane sugar
the rate of these white flags
will be just low enough
to avoid protest
or indignation
from whatever is left of our empathy
once
we believed
that the flap of a butterfly’s wings
in Tokyo
could cause a tornado
in Texas
this butterfly effect
is an example of chaos theory
but chaos
is simply a word
describing what lies beyond
the ability to calculate and predict
a mysterious maelstrom
if you have enough data
processing power
and faith
there are no dark corners
mysteries
or surprises
the wings of a butterfly
are algorithmically preordained
the hummingbird’s shadow
will cease to exist
at a pre-calculated rate
driven by the speed of increasing food prices
if you have enough data
there are no surprises left in social psychology
the final frontier of mankind
will be the speed
at which we stop having any discomfort
with the final solution
of efficiency
there will be a mathematical poetry
in these final actuarial tables
the graphs which chart the end
of those final starving Buddhist monks
those dying organic hippie Jonestown communes
will trace
the sadly romantic
and completely unchaotic
fall of man
that the only difference
between civilization and chaos
is three meals and twenty-four hours
as we slowly turn to machines
the Mike Pollans and Morgan Spurlocks
the people who believe
we should be eating local and organic food
for ethical reasons
for individual health benefits
to save the environment
to save ourselves
will be an interesting historical footnote
a record of mankind’s final frontier
most of these
health-conscious holdouts
who stick to their forks
demanding local and organic food
will be excited to upgrade
prosthetic limbs
neural implants
subdural biomechanical processors
when the latest iPhone app
is downloaded
not for our phones
but for our lithium cerebellums
granting us extra information
on the road of immortality
most homegrown slow-food advocates
will join that new society
slow-cooked grass-fed open-range pork ribs
glazed in whiskey and secret spices
will be ancient relics
of a time
when man and machine still existed
before they became dead terms
because there ceased to be a difference
before mankind became a derogatory term
to describe the holdouts
clinging to backward notions
of romanticism and mortality
this small minority
who continue to demand that their food
be local, organic, and addititve-free
will not make their demands
for health reasons
but out of a bedrock belief
in the value of natural
in the value of transient, temporary, mortal
because of some misplaced faith
in chaos
in natural improvement
natural selection
gave birth to hummingbirds
beautiful mindless vacuums
flitting flying feeding breeding
all muscle and stomach and eyes
a hundred wingbeats a second
burns a lot of calories
for such a small bit of beauty
to a society
pleasantly accustomed
to every desire
being electronically met
by cheap applications
applicable to neural implants
everybody can be Kobe
everybody can be an artist
daredevil philanthropist
astronaut scientist explorer
everybody can be a rock star
coke and groupies
champagne and flowers
in a world electronic
without traffic jams
dark corners
and fresh air
all your dreams
electronically delivered
ones and zeroes
forever
to this world
a hummingbird’s shadow
will be an increasing blight
on a brilliantly efficient future
the prices of organic of local of food
will therefore rise accordingly
testing the rate at which
the holdouts are willing to pay
and the updated are willing to tolerate
their decline
the Compton Applachia Darfurs of 2030
the war-torn crime-ridden neighborhoods
of the future
will be the home to those who refuse
all but natural food and water
who decline electronic longevity
and can afford nothing
but food
and dimly lit cockroach-infested housing
both parasites starving
equalized by their need for food
the Hoovervilles of the coming singularity
of the glorious inevitable union
of man and machine
will be updated hippie communes of the sixties
but these
will be socialist utopias by necessity
farming to keep their identity
on increasingly low rations
as prices continue to rise
the self-immolating Buddhist monks of the seventies
will reappear
trading gasoline, matches, and indignation
for slow public suicide by hunger strike
Jonestown
will crisscross the globe
as the communes give up
and swallow down the kool-aid of defeat
laced with authentic raw cane sugar
the rate of these white flags
will be just low enough
to avoid protest
or indignation
from whatever is left of our empathy
once
we believed
that the flap of a butterfly’s wings
in Tokyo
could cause a tornado
in Texas
this butterfly effect
is an example of chaos theory
but chaos
is simply a word
describing what lies beyond
the ability to calculate and predict
a mysterious maelstrom
if you have enough data
processing power
and faith
there are no dark corners
mysteries
or surprises
the wings of a butterfly
are algorithmically preordained
the hummingbird’s shadow
will cease to exist
at a pre-calculated rate
driven by the speed of increasing food prices
if you have enough data
there are no surprises left in social psychology
the final frontier of mankind
will be the speed
at which we stop having any discomfort
with the final solution
of efficiency
there will be a mathematical poetry
in these final actuarial tables
the graphs which chart the end
of those final starving Buddhist monks
those dying organic hippie Jonestown communes
will trace
the sadly romantic
and completely unchaotic
fall of man
solipsism
It's a fun word, and this helped me deal with some psychotic shit.
Happy Halloween a couple months early. I want to do this one with a tweaker face, and maybe just run off the stage when I finish like I've actually just lost my shit. :D
if we are all one consciousness
experiencing itself
some of that
“everything is just energy”
moving at different vibrations
light shining on light
imagining itself in the reflections
if that’s the case
let me offer you
shit
let me talk to myself
about this hippie trip thinking
if we’re all one consciousness
perhaps we’re part of some greater being
or maybe we’re all on the same level
energy, light, green goo, whatever
we’re all equal and we’re all one
that sounds nicer to me
(which means it sounds better to you)
since we’re all one
and that
explains why I can hear you
see, maybe I’m more evolved
if we’re all one being
maybe evolution represents
our becoming more self-aware
as we recognize more of what we are
we evolve and get smarter
people are smarter than germs
maybe
I’m just more evolved than ya’ll
smarter than ya’ll
because I am tapping
into some higher-level shit
I can hear you in my head
maybe not you, or all of you
but I can hear you
even when I plug my ears
I checked
if we are not all one
either I’ve got really good hearing
or I’m hearing shit that ain’t there
I don’t like that
so I - we - are going with the one consciousness thing
because I have no other explanation
for why I can still hear you whispering
just barely loud enough to hear
if I stick my fingers in my ears
all the girls I ever wanted
are screaming on my neighbors’ dick
laughing they’d never fuck me
the emergency room doctors
are informing me my sisters didn’t make it
the doctors upstairs need to tell me
the test results are positive
I don’t have long to live
the people I walk past
judge me when I float by
they’re laughing, I know
at everything about me
snickering under their breath
some are calling security
I really shouldn’t be here
besides, probably half of you
are cracking up
because my ex girlfriend
fucked you too
she liked to scream
that you were better
now you know who she’s talking about
you’re telling your buddy about it
it’s fucking funny, isn’t it?
I can hear you laughing about it
I just can’t turn fast enough
to catch you
in a way, it’s funny
I shouldn’t be pissed
we’re all the same
so you’re laughing at yourself
she cheated on me with me
it’s all in how you look at it
fuck; sex is just jacking off
you pleasuring yourself
and me - haha!
thing is
Sartre said, “Hell is other people”
all of you
I can’t deal with the implications of that
I am burning inside
with knowledge and self-loathing
like a beautiful latte
of oil and crow’s blood
I dream of lighting beacons on rooftops
to signal lightning strikes
to light the same fire in you
If you are hell, though
I am hell too
all of this heat and agony
inside of me makes sense
and
since we are all one
you’re all burning
with the same fire
the same latte
the same dream
it’s all so clear now
all the world’s problems
are mine
my problems are yours
prejudice, bigotry, hate
it’s my self - loathing
all the lie cheat beg rape murder steal
beat abuse curse hatefuck kill
that’s you and me and everyone
we’re all in this together
you have the same dream
let’s do this
if I am you and you I
you want this as badly as I do
you might not know it yet
I’m more evolved
you haven’t heard what I’ve heard
I can help you
--I can burn all this down.
we can torch our way through
to the other side
to find ourselves
trust me, I’ve heard it
I haven’t seen it
not yet
but I can feel it
I can dream it
I can hear it
you’ve gotta hear this
I have a dream
I can help you
I can
I promise
I can help us
I can help me
I can burn all this down
--I’m going to get some matches
Happy Halloween a couple months early. I want to do this one with a tweaker face, and maybe just run off the stage when I finish like I've actually just lost my shit. :D
if we are all one consciousness
experiencing itself
some of that
“everything is just energy”
moving at different vibrations
light shining on light
imagining itself in the reflections
if that’s the case
let me offer you
shit
let me talk to myself
about this hippie trip thinking
if we’re all one consciousness
perhaps we’re part of some greater being
or maybe we’re all on the same level
energy, light, green goo, whatever
we’re all equal and we’re all one
that sounds nicer to me
(which means it sounds better to you)
since we’re all one
and that
explains why I can hear you
see, maybe I’m more evolved
if we’re all one being
maybe evolution represents
our becoming more self-aware
as we recognize more of what we are
we evolve and get smarter
people are smarter than germs
maybe
I’m just more evolved than ya’ll
smarter than ya’ll
because I am tapping
into some higher-level shit
I can hear you in my head
maybe not you, or all of you
but I can hear you
even when I plug my ears
I checked
if we are not all one
either I’ve got really good hearing
or I’m hearing shit that ain’t there
I don’t like that
so I - we - are going with the one consciousness thing
because I have no other explanation
for why I can still hear you whispering
just barely loud enough to hear
if I stick my fingers in my ears
all the girls I ever wanted
are screaming on my neighbors’ dick
laughing they’d never fuck me
the emergency room doctors
are informing me my sisters didn’t make it
the doctors upstairs need to tell me
the test results are positive
I don’t have long to live
the people I walk past
judge me when I float by
they’re laughing, I know
at everything about me
snickering under their breath
some are calling security
I really shouldn’t be here
besides, probably half of you
are cracking up
because my ex girlfriend
fucked you too
she liked to scream
that you were better
now you know who she’s talking about
you’re telling your buddy about it
it’s fucking funny, isn’t it?
I can hear you laughing about it
I just can’t turn fast enough
to catch you
in a way, it’s funny
I shouldn’t be pissed
we’re all the same
so you’re laughing at yourself
she cheated on me with me
it’s all in how you look at it
fuck; sex is just jacking off
you pleasuring yourself
and me - haha!
thing is
Sartre said, “Hell is other people”
all of you
I can’t deal with the implications of that
I am burning inside
with knowledge and self-loathing
like a beautiful latte
of oil and crow’s blood
I dream of lighting beacons on rooftops
to signal lightning strikes
to light the same fire in you
If you are hell, though
I am hell too
all of this heat and agony
inside of me makes sense
and
since we are all one
you’re all burning
with the same fire
the same latte
the same dream
it’s all so clear now
all the world’s problems
are mine
my problems are yours
prejudice, bigotry, hate
it’s my self - loathing
all the lie cheat beg rape murder steal
beat abuse curse hatefuck kill
that’s you and me and everyone
we’re all in this together
you have the same dream
let’s do this
if I am you and you I
you want this as badly as I do
you might not know it yet
I’m more evolved
you haven’t heard what I’ve heard
I can help you
--I can burn all this down.
we can torch our way through
to the other side
to find ourselves
trust me, I’ve heard it
I haven’t seen it
not yet
but I can feel it
I can dream it
I can hear it
you’ve gotta hear this
I have a dream
I can help you
I can
I promise
I can help us
I can help me
I can burn all this down
--I’m going to get some matches
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Positive Reinforcement
Another week in ASU, another rap in class. Ironically, we're talking about how positive reinforcement is the best way to make a class work, rather than rewards and punishment; the professor had asked for a copy of my last poem, and published it on the back of his handout (to all his classes). Correspondingly, I gave him another poem.
Studies show that reinforcement
has a longer lasting effect
because punishment only lasts
as long as you’re breathing down their neck
see, it doesn’t get internal or stick
if you just stop and punish ‘em quick
look at it this way
they may only behave when you look
but start to hate you
like a fish watching a hook
it makes nothing lasting, nothing intrinsic
it might work in the short-term
but no matter how you spin it
a temporary increase in compliance
only hides a growing need for defiance
you’re not teaching them how to behave
you’re offering none of the praise that they crave
you’re not reducing the chances
that they misbehave again
simply smacking down in the moment
right there and then
positive reinforcement has all of these benefits
so give me just a couple of bars to sell it
I’m here to tell you that reinforcing classroom behavior
is quite simply and potentially a class management savior
it simultaneously teaches what’s expected
while giving them a reason to do it undirected
like a pulling a scary white rabbit out of a hat
you can teach dogs to drool for beef fat
with nothing more than the clanging of a bell
so use some conditioning to reinforce, reward, and sell
just remember and don’t forget
to spread out your rewards
so they don’t get dependent on candy
and just your words keep them focused, not bored
Studies show that reinforcement
has a longer lasting effect
because punishment only lasts
as long as you’re breathing down their neck
see, it doesn’t get internal or stick
if you just stop and punish ‘em quick
look at it this way
they may only behave when you look
but start to hate you
like a fish watching a hook
it makes nothing lasting, nothing intrinsic
it might work in the short-term
but no matter how you spin it
a temporary increase in compliance
only hides a growing need for defiance
you’re not teaching them how to behave
you’re offering none of the praise that they crave
you’re not reducing the chances
that they misbehave again
simply smacking down in the moment
right there and then
positive reinforcement has all of these benefits
so give me just a couple of bars to sell it
I’m here to tell you that reinforcing classroom behavior
is quite simply and potentially a class management savior
it simultaneously teaches what’s expected
while giving them a reason to do it undirected
like a pulling a scary white rabbit out of a hat
you can teach dogs to drool for beef fat
with nothing more than the clanging of a bell
so use some conditioning to reinforce, reward, and sell
just remember and don’t forget
to spread out your rewards
so they don’t get dependent on candy
and just your words keep them focused, not bored
Motivation (ASU)
Since I've stopped writing rhyming poetry for a while, and have been writing slam, I've been randomly inspired to freewrite raps in one of my Monday night ASU classes, about whatever we're discussing in class that day.
One week, we talked about motivating kids:
In your classroom you need to have it, some motivation
It’s what drives your kids to mental perspiration
It’s easily built by giving them self-determination
If you don’t really care, give ‘em a choice
There’s something empowering about that little voice
When they believe the classroom is theirs
They buy into the rules they see them as more fair
If you can make ‘em believe they can do it
They’ll find within the power to get through it
They’ll be excited for the time they come to your class
They’ll jump into assignments you won’t need to harass
You can build it with candy and phone calls home
Something extrinsic to get the motivation goin
But then academics are just the means to an end
You gotta get to the point when the rewards are in their head
and in their heart
They push to the end from the start
because they want it for themselves
they don’t need the whistles and the bells
they just want it because they can
they see their future in the palm of their hand
and they see how your class is going to get them there
so it becomes no longer a burden to bear
but a place where they know someone cares
and from deep down inside they believe
the simple awesome truth – that they can achieve
so they’re game to buckle down and learn
they’ll raise their hands and wait their turn
cause you found the key to the ignition
the special ingredient cooking in your classroom kitchen
motivation
One week, we talked about motivating kids:
In your classroom you need to have it, some motivation
It’s what drives your kids to mental perspiration
It’s easily built by giving them self-determination
If you don’t really care, give ‘em a choice
There’s something empowering about that little voice
When they believe the classroom is theirs
They buy into the rules they see them as more fair
If you can make ‘em believe they can do it
They’ll find within the power to get through it
They’ll be excited for the time they come to your class
They’ll jump into assignments you won’t need to harass
You can build it with candy and phone calls home
Something extrinsic to get the motivation goin
But then academics are just the means to an end
You gotta get to the point when the rewards are in their head
and in their heart
They push to the end from the start
because they want it for themselves
they don’t need the whistles and the bells
they just want it because they can
they see their future in the palm of their hand
and they see how your class is going to get them there
so it becomes no longer a burden to bear
but a place where they know someone cares
and from deep down inside they believe
the simple awesome truth – that they can achieve
so they’re game to buckle down and learn
they’ll raise their hands and wait their turn
cause you found the key to the ignition
the special ingredient cooking in your classroom kitchen
motivation
three small words
Josie and the Pussycats. That's pretty much it. My little sister had the movie and album years ago, I liked the song, and I always wondered what they were. This poem came out of that thought process - I went from that, to wondering what a short trip it was from "I love you" to "I hate you." And I had this mental image of a short "10 Things I Hate About You" type exchange:
"I love you!"
"I love you? I had you."
In my head, it could have meant fooled; it could have meant sexually; it could have been both in one conversation. Anyway, this poem was the experiment that came from that, and it's much shorter.
three little words
so much power
so much story
a quick trip
because some how
I love you
becomes
I hate you
I knew you
Three little words
I see you
I spotted you
I like you
I heard you
I asked you
three little words
what’s your name
I flirted you
I called you
I see you
three little words
I want you.
I crave you
I kiss you
I taste you
I ate you
I liked you
I rode you
I haad you!
A strange realization
I like you
I’m seeing you
We’re chilling now
We’re sorta together
Yeah, it’s official
Three small words
We’re dating now
We’re a couple
Table for two
and the lady?
three simple words
I believe you
I trust you
I’m with you
I am yours
I’m into you
I’m on you
I’m under you
I’m beside you
I’m for you
I match you
I hold you
I cuddle you
I snuggle you
Three wild words
I love you
I need you
Three short words
I love you
I need you
Three gaping lies
I was yours
You were mine
We were great
Three past truths
I loved you
I needed you
I trusted you
Three huge mistakes
I believed you
I held you
I loved you
I lost you
I ache you
I crave you
I miss you
I want you
I love you
Three simple facts
I’m not okay
I’m not healed
But it’s better
Than the memories
Thanks for those
and all this
Three short words
A simple lie
A dirty phrase
I loved you
"I love you!"
"I love you? I had you."
In my head, it could have meant fooled; it could have meant sexually; it could have been both in one conversation. Anyway, this poem was the experiment that came from that, and it's much shorter.
three little words
so much power
so much story
a quick trip
because some how
I love you
becomes
I hate you
I knew you
Three little words
I see you
I spotted you
I like you
I heard you
I asked you
three little words
what’s your name
I flirted you
I called you
I see you
three little words
I want you.
I crave you
I kiss you
I taste you
I ate you
I liked you
I rode you
I haad you!
A strange realization
I like you
I’m seeing you
We’re chilling now
We’re sorta together
Yeah, it’s official
Three small words
We’re dating now
We’re a couple
Table for two
and the lady?
three simple words
I believe you
I trust you
I’m with you
I am yours
I’m into you
I’m on you
I’m under you
I’m beside you
I’m for you
I match you
I hold you
I cuddle you
I snuggle you
Three wild words
I love you
I need you
Three short words
I love you
I need you
Three gaping lies
I was yours
You were mine
We were great
Three past truths
I loved you
I needed you
I trusted you
Three huge mistakes
I believed you
I held you
I loved you
I lost you
I ache you
I crave you
I miss you
I want you
I love you
Three simple facts
I’m not okay
I’m not healed
But it’s better
Than the memories
Thanks for those
and all this
Three short words
A simple lie
A dirty phrase
I loved you
homo electronicus
This one doesn't actually have a title.
I read this article in GQ, about the singularity.
Not the singularity where the universe began, a point of infinite density, heat, and minute size, but where computers can increase their own intelligence (AI is real), and the possibilities that entailed.
I went off on a whole mind journey with that motherfucker; I'm going to get a couple poems out of that. Maybe a couple of stories, like an updated vision of how we get to 1984, as well.
Anyway, one of my ideas from the GQ article is about what makes us human. Part of the article talked about being able to make computers legitimately "creative," to have them produce music, novels, television, etc. That fucked with me, and it led to this.
let me lay some calculus upon you
my question is this
is oral sex
worth the existence of murder?
nah
let me try again
is the smell of your lover’s hair
woth allowing child abuse
to exist?
could you trade the opera
for all the deaths in Rwanda
and swap the sunrise
for curing hunger
somewhere else
one of those unfortunate places
that are always being rocked by earthquakes and tsunamis
let me lay this calculus on you
if you could trade
all orgasms ever
for world peace
if you could end disease worldwide
at the price of ending all pleasure
and end all human suffering
by deleting all human happiness
could you do it?
could you not?
I’m looking at my laptop
and I see the future of mankind
and the end of humanity
because I do not know
that you can have a rose without the thorns
or tequila without the toilet
if you can have love without pain
and happiness without misery
I believe you can’t have heat
without cold
and light without dark
but we’re going to find out
the battle royale of ethics
is just around the corner
Nietzsche and god may be dead
but they’re about to turn in their graves
and Plato, Plato is going to be pissed!
In the coming battle with the robots,
in the war with the machines,
we don’t need John Connor to lead us
I know how we survive
if you can’t beat ‘em, join em
we are the connected generation
maybe you couldn’t fit a computer
inside of a small house
fifty years ago
but now
we can strap tentacles onto them
and send them into your arteries
to examine your heart
Thirty years after
George Lucas dreamed of light sabers
and we built them to fix our corneas
we are the connected generation
and we are set to swap
homo erectus
for
homo electronicus
we are set
to make algorithms
of the final frontier
of our consciousness.
Let me lay this calculus upon you.
we’ve got the library of Alexandria
crammed onto microchips
tighter than the angels dancing on a pin
before we killed god
and declared ourselves the omega
we like to fix things
to improve things
the thalidomide flower children
can tell you all about it
so think of the logic in this calculus
we’ve got our cell phones and crackberries
and I think it’s only a matter of time
before they go to our heads
and we get the perfectly portable
hands free headset
one quick nick at purchase
voice activated
and a double-tap to end the call
we’ve got prosthetic limbs
and they’ll get biomechanical soon
we can remove and implant organs
we can almost grow them in jars
and as soon as we can build them
with the most efficient materials (!)
we’ll crank ‘em out by the thousands
artificial scabs to replace the picketing workers
of our aging, downsizing bodies
and how quick is it from a mechanical heart
to a mechanical eye
to a fiberglass optic nerve
to a crystal brain with upbeat software
let me lay some dirty calculus upon you
we like to fix things?
yeah, abnormalities defects
hyperactivity depression attention deficit
lethargy insomnia
if we’ll crank some pills to improve our mood
drop a few pounds
fall asleep
wake up
get hard
and pack on a little more muscle
is it really so strange to think
that we would download an app
to improve our mood
stimulate creativity
delete our bad thoughts
calm. Our abnormal thoughts
of violence pain jealousy
apathy
let me feed you this calculus
our computers are finally learning to learn
the final step towards a truly artificial intelligence
and once that thing learns
to teach itself to learn faster
these Star Wars dreams are not far away
in years
they are close in our dreams and wishes
and if they can move
from building organs to brains
to improving our hardware
then I’m sure it can figure out
how to reproduce and edit our mental programming
than I’m sure it can produce
some mental software
to improve upon our own
mathematically operationalizing
the thought processes of the human mind
recreating it in a software program
with the ability and desire to improve itself
I barely know what the fuck that means
but I understand the calculus
of hitting a button
to create a Van Gogh
a Shakespeare
a Mitch Hedberg
a Hitler
a Gandhi
a Bill Hicks
a fucking Jerry Bruckheimer
on demand, instant, ready to go
and something about taking the Jack London
Cesar Chavez Simon Bolivar Sitting Bull
and Cleopatra
from the human quilt
and stitching them into a computer chip
something about that makes them seem
a little less human
a little less strange, rare, wild, and beautiful
I want my tears raw real
I want my pleasure soft, I want it hard
I want my rock stars dead
and this calculus
of improving our eyes and body and mind
when we can improve
not just our hardware
but upgrade our software
how long is it
before we become software ourselves
before we upload ourselves
get rid of our hardware
shed our mortal coil
not just to meet death
but to defeat it
obtain immortality through digital-ity
and back ourselves up on disk.
we can cure everything
we can cure the world of our physical selves
we can cure all our problems
but if everybody’s perfect
nobody’s special
and I think there’s something
about the heart
that makes love and hate a reality
the blood
you can’t burn with anger and passion
if you’re cold silicone circuits
I think we may often imitate
but never duplicate
humanity
let me lay this calculus on you
machines do not get hungry
machines do not get sick
and it doesn’t need to feel
pain or jealousy or heartbreak
it can just delete it
would you really choose
to keep it
if you had the choice?
this could be you
gigabytes of ones and zeroes
able to live forever
with no hunger or thirst
no sadness fear or despair
no abuse or misery
no more suffering
just pay with your taste
your touch, your skin
no more love, courage, or sunsets
no pleasure, delight, or surprise
I don’t think machines can be in a good mood
or that you can even have good without bad
so the question is
can you keep the baby
if it means keeping the bathwater
can you keep your music
if it means drowning and degenerative disease
can you keep creativity and humor
if it means bodies crushed in earthquakes
can you keep love
if it means children will lie in streets
with flies waiting in their eyesockets
for their lungs to stop gasping
let this calculus weigh on you
I don’t think I could keep them
but I don’t know that I could give them up
I hear that’s the self-preservation instinct
of archaic biological consciousness
I wonder if my answer
would be different
if I was unemployed, hungry, and cold
in the greatest country in the world
if I raked my living in sweatshop blood
striving to make Hilfiger iPods
if I lived in the Gaza Strip
and dodged shrapnel frappucinos
on the way to work
if my village faced a deadly epidemic
of the common cold
let me lay this calculus upon you
even if it meant no passion
no air
no creativity pleasure or sacrifice
wouldn’t you pick life over death?
I’m looking at my laptop
I see the future of mankind
and the end of humanity
I know how we survive
if you can’t beat ‘em, join em
I read this article in GQ, about the singularity.
Not the singularity where the universe began, a point of infinite density, heat, and minute size, but where computers can increase their own intelligence (AI is real), and the possibilities that entailed.
I went off on a whole mind journey with that motherfucker; I'm going to get a couple poems out of that. Maybe a couple of stories, like an updated vision of how we get to 1984, as well.
Anyway, one of my ideas from the GQ article is about what makes us human. Part of the article talked about being able to make computers legitimately "creative," to have them produce music, novels, television, etc. That fucked with me, and it led to this.
let me lay some calculus upon you
my question is this
is oral sex
worth the existence of murder?
nah
let me try again
is the smell of your lover’s hair
woth allowing child abuse
to exist?
could you trade the opera
for all the deaths in Rwanda
and swap the sunrise
for curing hunger
somewhere else
one of those unfortunate places
that are always being rocked by earthquakes and tsunamis
let me lay this calculus on you
if you could trade
all orgasms ever
for world peace
if you could end disease worldwide
at the price of ending all pleasure
and end all human suffering
by deleting all human happiness
could you do it?
could you not?
I’m looking at my laptop
and I see the future of mankind
and the end of humanity
because I do not know
that you can have a rose without the thorns
or tequila without the toilet
if you can have love without pain
and happiness without misery
I believe you can’t have heat
without cold
and light without dark
but we’re going to find out
the battle royale of ethics
is just around the corner
Nietzsche and god may be dead
but they’re about to turn in their graves
and Plato, Plato is going to be pissed!
In the coming battle with the robots,
in the war with the machines,
we don’t need John Connor to lead us
I know how we survive
if you can’t beat ‘em, join em
we are the connected generation
maybe you couldn’t fit a computer
inside of a small house
fifty years ago
but now
we can strap tentacles onto them
and send them into your arteries
to examine your heart
Thirty years after
George Lucas dreamed of light sabers
and we built them to fix our corneas
we are the connected generation
and we are set to swap
homo erectus
for
homo electronicus
we are set
to make algorithms
of the final frontier
of our consciousness.
Let me lay this calculus upon you.
we’ve got the library of Alexandria
crammed onto microchips
tighter than the angels dancing on a pin
before we killed god
and declared ourselves the omega
we like to fix things
to improve things
the thalidomide flower children
can tell you all about it
so think of the logic in this calculus
we’ve got our cell phones and crackberries
and I think it’s only a matter of time
before they go to our heads
and we get the perfectly portable
hands free headset
one quick nick at purchase
voice activated
and a double-tap to end the call
we’ve got prosthetic limbs
and they’ll get biomechanical soon
we can remove and implant organs
we can almost grow them in jars
and as soon as we can build them
with the most efficient materials (!)
we’ll crank ‘em out by the thousands
artificial scabs to replace the picketing workers
of our aging, downsizing bodies
and how quick is it from a mechanical heart
to a mechanical eye
to a fiberglass optic nerve
to a crystal brain with upbeat software
let me lay some dirty calculus upon you
we like to fix things?
yeah, abnormalities defects
hyperactivity depression attention deficit
lethargy insomnia
if we’ll crank some pills to improve our mood
drop a few pounds
fall asleep
wake up
get hard
and pack on a little more muscle
is it really so strange to think
that we would download an app
to improve our mood
stimulate creativity
delete our bad thoughts
calm. Our abnormal thoughts
of violence pain jealousy
apathy
let me feed you this calculus
our computers are finally learning to learn
the final step towards a truly artificial intelligence
and once that thing learns
to teach itself to learn faster
these Star Wars dreams are not far away
in years
they are close in our dreams and wishes
and if they can move
from building organs to brains
to improving our hardware
then I’m sure it can figure out
how to reproduce and edit our mental programming
than I’m sure it can produce
some mental software
to improve upon our own
mathematically operationalizing
the thought processes of the human mind
recreating it in a software program
with the ability and desire to improve itself
I barely know what the fuck that means
but I understand the calculus
of hitting a button
to create a Van Gogh
a Shakespeare
a Mitch Hedberg
a Hitler
a Gandhi
a Bill Hicks
a fucking Jerry Bruckheimer
on demand, instant, ready to go
and something about taking the Jack London
Cesar Chavez Simon Bolivar Sitting Bull
and Cleopatra
from the human quilt
and stitching them into a computer chip
something about that makes them seem
a little less human
a little less strange, rare, wild, and beautiful
I want my tears raw real
I want my pleasure soft, I want it hard
I want my rock stars dead
and this calculus
of improving our eyes and body and mind
when we can improve
not just our hardware
but upgrade our software
how long is it
before we become software ourselves
before we upload ourselves
get rid of our hardware
shed our mortal coil
not just to meet death
but to defeat it
obtain immortality through digital-ity
and back ourselves up on disk.
we can cure everything
we can cure the world of our physical selves
we can cure all our problems
but if everybody’s perfect
nobody’s special
and I think there’s something
about the heart
that makes love and hate a reality
the blood
you can’t burn with anger and passion
if you’re cold silicone circuits
I think we may often imitate
but never duplicate
humanity
let me lay this calculus on you
machines do not get hungry
machines do not get sick
and it doesn’t need to feel
pain or jealousy or heartbreak
it can just delete it
would you really choose
to keep it
if you had the choice?
this could be you
gigabytes of ones and zeroes
able to live forever
with no hunger or thirst
no sadness fear or despair
no abuse or misery
no more suffering
just pay with your taste
your touch, your skin
no more love, courage, or sunsets
no pleasure, delight, or surprise
I don’t think machines can be in a good mood
or that you can even have good without bad
so the question is
can you keep the baby
if it means keeping the bathwater
can you keep your music
if it means drowning and degenerative disease
can you keep creativity and humor
if it means bodies crushed in earthquakes
can you keep love
if it means children will lie in streets
with flies waiting in their eyesockets
for their lungs to stop gasping
let this calculus weigh on you
I don’t think I could keep them
but I don’t know that I could give them up
I hear that’s the self-preservation instinct
of archaic biological consciousness
I wonder if my answer
would be different
if I was unemployed, hungry, and cold
in the greatest country in the world
if I raked my living in sweatshop blood
striving to make Hilfiger iPods
if I lived in the Gaza Strip
and dodged shrapnel frappucinos
on the way to work
if my village faced a deadly epidemic
of the common cold
let me lay this calculus upon you
even if it meant no passion
no air
no creativity pleasure or sacrifice
wouldn’t you pick life over death?
I’m looking at my laptop
I see the future of mankind
and the end of humanity
I know how we survive
if you can’t beat ‘em, join em
Two Dead Men
I've been making a list of poems to write, including 10 or 12 political ones. I saw an Eisenhower quote the other day, and all of a sudden, this poem sprang out almost entire - it tied into one of my ideas. Even cooler, I'm definitely giving this to my kids next week, along with the poem about Taylor Ault, to have them try their hand at "found poetry" after AIMS.
One fun thing about this one - when I perform it, I get to wave two fingers around constantly, to contrast peace signs and victory signs - and do a little Nixon at the end.
two dead men
a drug-addicted comedian
a Republican president
two dead men
one single observation
shrapnel
doesn’t taste very good
and it’s a little lacking
in the essential vitamins and minerals
a dead comedian
had a dream
a dead British singer
would have liked
take all the money we spend
on weapons and defense
each year
and instead
spend it
feeding, clothing, and educating
the poor of the world
which it would
many times over
not one human being excluded
and we can explore space
together
both inner and outer
forever
in peace
dreamer
dreaming like a guy
with more drugs
than your average jam band
but he’s not the only one
two dead men
a drug-addicted comedian
a Republican president
can both recognize
that we do not eat metal
shrapnel doesn’t taste very good
but it can cure world hunger
one closed mouth at a time
dead men tell no tales
nor need their daily bread
ask Pol Pot
how to solve a hunger problem
ask Saddam Hussein
how to solve a hunger problem
ask Idi Amin Slobodan Milosevic
ask the Armenian sultans before World War I
ask the Tutsi
if the machetes
quenched the hunger in their belly
dead men tell no tales
but they’ve got some answers
to our problems
if we’re going to take food
from the mouths of babes
we should be kind enough
to feed them the steel
we paid for instead
two dead men
a drug-addicted comedian
but also
a Republican president
every gun that is made
every warship launched
every rocked fired
signifies in the final sense
a theft
from those who hunger
and are not fed
from those who are cold
and are not clothed
you know
what he’s talking about
because you live
at the scene of the crime
down at home
here in Oceania
the man in Tennessee
who lay dead in the parking lot
outside the emergency room
where they dragged him
and left him
the boy in New York
dead in his mother’s arms
because the cavity
spread its brown gangrene
from his jaw
to his gray matter
one was dragged out to die
and the other never even made it
to the doctor
because they didn’t have insurance
it wasn’t murder
because they didn’t have insurance
you know the scene of the crime
here in Oceania
you see it in the movies
the classrooms that you hear about
the wasteland
with graffitied desks and glazed eyes
we can’t pay for new books chairs or pencils
the 2010 federal budget
allotted half a hundred billion for education
and two-thirds of a trillion
for those guns warships and missiles
the toilet paper in the bathrooms
ran out last week
I heard they’re using it
to wipe clean the streets
around the Green Zone
there’s always someone standing
at the corner of the interstate
with an empty belly and an open hand
the homeless shelters are closing
the lights are flickering
at the unemployment office
and the subsidies to pay the gas bill
in public housing complexes
for single working mothers
we’re using the fuel
to burn desert sands
into bloody fused glass
this is Oceania
this is the price
of victory
we could pay for our streets
and our Michigan bridges
to pave our highways clean
into renewed inner cities
but we’re paying to pour
carpet-bomber concrete
in Afghani mountains
ask the Ninth Ward
if they wanted to pay
for that victory
with the concrete from their levees
and we didn’t even need to
we could do so much at home
we could do so much everywhere
if we stopped buying victory
by maintaining obsolete weapons
and for any
homophobic redneck 2nd Amendment
flag-waving pencil-dicked motherfuckers
who need me to elaborate
on the definition of obsolete
it means do not use this gun
unless you like getting skullfucked
we could junk those guns
we could junk those warships
we could junk those missiles
we could pay for victory
with a little less theft
with a little less obsolete
but we live in Oceania
and we didn’t listen to Orwell
a comedian and a President
told us about theft and love
about the cost of our bombs
about the path to victory
but we didn’t listen to Orwell
he already knew we’d fight
with Eurasia against Eastasia
and pay the mountain men
with the funds
for free school lunches
but one September salvo
changed all that
we were always at war
nothing has changed
check your flags
we should’ve listened to Orwell
and if nothing’s ever changed
maybe we’re paying for nothing
to never come
we live in Oceania
and two dead men
are telling us the price
of a victory that may never come
not through fighting
I’d wave my peace signs
because I’m a dreamer
and I’m not the only one
but that’s not the price of victory
if we pay for the guns
instead of food and shelter
then that’s called opportunity cost
the something else
we could’ve paid for
now those two dead men
are not economists
so maybe
they could just say it plain
they could tell us that
our broken schools
and drowned levees
the children lost
to gang violence
the newborn and elderly
aching for their pain medication
they are the price of victory
so when another dead man
sends me one single thought
one sole idea
written in red
on every beachhead
from Australia to Tokyo
that there is no substitute for victory
there is not a lot
I can say to that
nothing that two dead men
have to say
about stealing from the hungry
and exploring together
no peace sign I can wave
beats the simple claim
that
there is no substitute for victory
One fun thing about this one - when I perform it, I get to wave two fingers around constantly, to contrast peace signs and victory signs - and do a little Nixon at the end.
two dead men
a drug-addicted comedian
a Republican president
two dead men
one single observation
shrapnel
doesn’t taste very good
and it’s a little lacking
in the essential vitamins and minerals
a dead comedian
had a dream
a dead British singer
would have liked
take all the money we spend
on weapons and defense
each year
and instead
spend it
feeding, clothing, and educating
the poor of the world
which it would
many times over
not one human being excluded
and we can explore space
together
both inner and outer
forever
in peace
dreamer
dreaming like a guy
with more drugs
than your average jam band
but he’s not the only one
two dead men
a drug-addicted comedian
a Republican president
can both recognize
that we do not eat metal
shrapnel doesn’t taste very good
but it can cure world hunger
one closed mouth at a time
dead men tell no tales
nor need their daily bread
ask Pol Pot
how to solve a hunger problem
ask Saddam Hussein
how to solve a hunger problem
ask Idi Amin Slobodan Milosevic
ask the Armenian sultans before World War I
ask the Tutsi
if the machetes
quenched the hunger in their belly
dead men tell no tales
but they’ve got some answers
to our problems
if we’re going to take food
from the mouths of babes
we should be kind enough
to feed them the steel
we paid for instead
two dead men
a drug-addicted comedian
but also
a Republican president
every gun that is made
every warship launched
every rocked fired
signifies in the final sense
a theft
from those who hunger
and are not fed
from those who are cold
and are not clothed
you know
what he’s talking about
because you live
at the scene of the crime
down at home
here in Oceania
the man in Tennessee
who lay dead in the parking lot
outside the emergency room
where they dragged him
and left him
the boy in New York
dead in his mother’s arms
because the cavity
spread its brown gangrene
from his jaw
to his gray matter
one was dragged out to die
and the other never even made it
to the doctor
because they didn’t have insurance
it wasn’t murder
because they didn’t have insurance
you know the scene of the crime
here in Oceania
you see it in the movies
the classrooms that you hear about
the wasteland
with graffitied desks and glazed eyes
we can’t pay for new books chairs or pencils
the 2010 federal budget
allotted half a hundred billion for education
and two-thirds of a trillion
for those guns warships and missiles
the toilet paper in the bathrooms
ran out last week
I heard they’re using it
to wipe clean the streets
around the Green Zone
there’s always someone standing
at the corner of the interstate
with an empty belly and an open hand
the homeless shelters are closing
the lights are flickering
at the unemployment office
and the subsidies to pay the gas bill
in public housing complexes
for single working mothers
we’re using the fuel
to burn desert sands
into bloody fused glass
this is Oceania
this is the price
of victory
we could pay for our streets
and our Michigan bridges
to pave our highways clean
into renewed inner cities
but we’re paying to pour
carpet-bomber concrete
in Afghani mountains
ask the Ninth Ward
if they wanted to pay
for that victory
with the concrete from their levees
and we didn’t even need to
we could do so much at home
we could do so much everywhere
if we stopped buying victory
by maintaining obsolete weapons
and for any
homophobic redneck 2nd Amendment
flag-waving pencil-dicked motherfuckers
who need me to elaborate
on the definition of obsolete
it means do not use this gun
unless you like getting skullfucked
we could junk those guns
we could junk those warships
we could junk those missiles
we could pay for victory
with a little less theft
with a little less obsolete
but we live in Oceania
and we didn’t listen to Orwell
a comedian and a President
told us about theft and love
about the cost of our bombs
about the path to victory
but we didn’t listen to Orwell
he already knew we’d fight
with Eurasia against Eastasia
and pay the mountain men
with the funds
for free school lunches
but one September salvo
changed all that
we were always at war
nothing has changed
check your flags
we should’ve listened to Orwell
and if nothing’s ever changed
maybe we’re paying for nothing
to never come
we live in Oceania
and two dead men
are telling us the price
of a victory that may never come
not through fighting
I’d wave my peace signs
because I’m a dreamer
and I’m not the only one
but that’s not the price of victory
if we pay for the guns
instead of food and shelter
then that’s called opportunity cost
the something else
we could’ve paid for
now those two dead men
are not economists
so maybe
they could just say it plain
they could tell us that
our broken schools
and drowned levees
the children lost
to gang violence
the newborn and elderly
aching for their pain medication
they are the price of victory
so when another dead man
sends me one single thought
one sole idea
written in red
on every beachhead
from Australia to Tokyo
that there is no substitute for victory
there is not a lot
I can say to that
nothing that two dead men
have to say
about stealing from the hungry
and exploring together
no peace sign I can wave
beats the simple claim
that
there is no substitute for victory
gutshot puppy
This one's random -
I felt like making up a explanation of loss to tie together all my tattoos; I had the first section written for something else; and many other pieces were chunks of other poems that didn't work. I kind of like how I made all of this fit together, though.
gutshot puppy
I know they say
to love like you’ve never been hurt
but I’m a moth drawn to flame
broken burnt and I’d say
I’m not the same
but it feels like everything I know of it
and believe I can tell you how it goes
I’ve got etched in my skin; my experience shows
you should know
my tattoos are like chosen scars
a stitched record of where I’ve run so far
the stuff I want to remember
and a pile I need to forget
even with the ink, I’ll lose ‘em
I’m keeping faith it just hasn’t happened yet
check it
picture a gutshot puppy
Cupid shot my belief with a double-barrel
so I don’t know what to make
of love
because I hear her climax in every album
I ever felt her shake to
and my mind feeds my stomach memories
until I sit with a belly full of buckshot
these pellets are agony
made of Spanish sun-dappled patios
and crisp blueberry beer
on chilly Connecticut porches
of peanut butter milkshakes
and frantic backseat sex
outside the auto parts store
of chicken wings and chickenhead
flying through the valley
of theatrical make-up and tangled lovers
that never flew as straight
as the crow flies
of a light that connected eyes
and burnt the air between
with the raw belonging of each other’s arms
of snuggled stoned teddy bears
with pounds of icing
and fresh deep dish delivery
of having it all and throwing it away
of having it all and being thrown away
again and again
is it better to have loved and lost
then never to have loved at all
then why do we say
ignorance is bliss
now I know what I miss
what I let slip away
and I also wonder
if any of my loves were real
if they matter
when you can leap and fall
knowing someone will pick up the pieces
does it really excite?
can I really care
when I know the steps to a relationship
to compromise and passion
can I really care if that’s all love is?
repeatable
reproducible
reproductive if you fuck (it up)
I etched my arm
with aspirations of flight
because I wanted freedom
from the burden of my crushed pride
but I lacked the strength
to jump from the ledge
so I just fell and crashed
into a curly haired New Yorker
again and again and again
now I can’t decide
if it’s still hate fucking
when the person you despise
is yourself
but this is one mistake
I love to make far too often
and she helps stop the hole
these words spill out of
they wrap around my arm
like the sheet of gray rain
that drowned out the subway tunnels
and soaked my pillow with salty tears
as I lay there waiting and wasting
until New York lips parted the clouds
turning the words from a lie
to a half-truth
I can see
I believe
It’s all up to me
half true only partly because
my arm bleeds roses
for six women I didn’t protect enough
who were almost torn apart
by a love that burned slow
like gonorrhea and cancer
I can tell you it’s the time that we kill
that keeps us alive
but I’ve watched love
go from eight inches deep
to six feet under
we would kill each other
three times a day
and kill the day in between
but I must be an assassin
I’m so adept at delivering the coup de grace
to all the time we spent together
together we swore
that if you breathe what we do
and bleed in red too
then I won’t consume you
we lived and learned
but neither of us won
I know I lost
joined fists raised at a rally
and defiant banners
Bonnie and Clyde against the world.
For all the resolve I had and we shared
I consumed you
red blood and vibrant lungs all
and like yesterday’s food
turned us to shit
it’s so good to burn
but fire consumes its fuel
and this flaming moth
with a buckshot belly
prays that everytime something ends
it brings the beginning of something else
you know every time the sun sets
it’s going to rise again
but I’m sick of looking for the next one
I’m sick of the drinks I drink
in between sipping someone who matters
and still not finding my strawberry milkshake
I’m sick of thinking it’s a cycle in the first place
sick of ending up last when I put you first
life isn’t a race anyway, it’s a ride
so throw your hands up
and let the g-forces pull your screams
into a rictus of delicious deviance
the end is only a few feet behind the beginning
just hop back on and go again
even if you didn’t like the ride
but girl, fucking listen
I’m a teddy bear
I’m hairy and fuzzy and scratchy and cuddly
let me put my arms around you
let me hold you to me
and let me be the one you squeeze while you sleep
let be the one you curse at
and throw against the wall
when you can’t find your keys
let me the one
you leave on the floor forgotten
just let me the one
if only for a time
I’m so good at killing it
it’s all we’ve got, and it’s running out
so I’m burning my fuse to midnight
broken slippers and rotten pumpkins
when I let another peter pumpkin eater
scavenge the pieces of your fruit
but in the meantime
bring those predator eyes to bear on this bear
and let me know I’m home
I’m a wolf, I can run alone
I can take it
I can walk these lonely miles
but I want to run them with you
I want to bite you
I want to break you
like a tiger ready to pounce
and leave some marks
in your back
ever watch a cat
writhe and arch its back?
seen it take its time and enjoy its meal
before it kills it?
then you’ve got an idea
of what I can do for you
imagine the power in a snow leopard
I could save all that for you
because I’ve barely got a skeleton hand grip
on the steering wheel of my life
you can only move as fast
as who’s in front of you
so face me
and let me take you
from zero to finished
as fast as your engine can handle
maybe you can love like you’ve never been hurt
but I can love you until it hurts
and I think that maybe
you can only love if you’ve been hurt
you already know that this ticking time bomb
roller coaster ride
has a circular track
so you remember to ride it
until you get whiplash
love’s a good hurt at the best of times
and a magnificent car crash
when it’s even better
I know
I’ve lit cigarettes for after
while I lay on the bridges I’d burned
I’m a puppy, a wolf, a tiger
I’m a teddy bear
I know we can say goodbye
as soon as we say hello
that the last straw weighs less
than the first brick in the wall
but you should still
stop and say hello
if you’ve ever seen a dog drinking water
you already know
this puppy gives good bye
I felt like making up a explanation of loss to tie together all my tattoos; I had the first section written for something else; and many other pieces were chunks of other poems that didn't work. I kind of like how I made all of this fit together, though.
gutshot puppy
I know they say
to love like you’ve never been hurt
but I’m a moth drawn to flame
broken burnt and I’d say
I’m not the same
but it feels like everything I know of it
and believe I can tell you how it goes
I’ve got etched in my skin; my experience shows
you should know
my tattoos are like chosen scars
a stitched record of where I’ve run so far
the stuff I want to remember
and a pile I need to forget
even with the ink, I’ll lose ‘em
I’m keeping faith it just hasn’t happened yet
check it
picture a gutshot puppy
Cupid shot my belief with a double-barrel
so I don’t know what to make
of love
because I hear her climax in every album
I ever felt her shake to
and my mind feeds my stomach memories
until I sit with a belly full of buckshot
these pellets are agony
made of Spanish sun-dappled patios
and crisp blueberry beer
on chilly Connecticut porches
of peanut butter milkshakes
and frantic backseat sex
outside the auto parts store
of chicken wings and chickenhead
flying through the valley
of theatrical make-up and tangled lovers
that never flew as straight
as the crow flies
of a light that connected eyes
and burnt the air between
with the raw belonging of each other’s arms
of snuggled stoned teddy bears
with pounds of icing
and fresh deep dish delivery
of having it all and throwing it away
of having it all and being thrown away
again and again
is it better to have loved and lost
then never to have loved at all
then why do we say
ignorance is bliss
now I know what I miss
what I let slip away
and I also wonder
if any of my loves were real
if they matter
when you can leap and fall
knowing someone will pick up the pieces
does it really excite?
can I really care
when I know the steps to a relationship
to compromise and passion
can I really care if that’s all love is?
repeatable
reproducible
reproductive if you fuck (it up)
I etched my arm
with aspirations of flight
because I wanted freedom
from the burden of my crushed pride
but I lacked the strength
to jump from the ledge
so I just fell and crashed
into a curly haired New Yorker
again and again and again
now I can’t decide
if it’s still hate fucking
when the person you despise
is yourself
but this is one mistake
I love to make far too often
and she helps stop the hole
these words spill out of
they wrap around my arm
like the sheet of gray rain
that drowned out the subway tunnels
and soaked my pillow with salty tears
as I lay there waiting and wasting
until New York lips parted the clouds
turning the words from a lie
to a half-truth
I can see
I believe
It’s all up to me
half true only partly because
my arm bleeds roses
for six women I didn’t protect enough
who were almost torn apart
by a love that burned slow
like gonorrhea and cancer
I can tell you it’s the time that we kill
that keeps us alive
but I’ve watched love
go from eight inches deep
to six feet under
we would kill each other
three times a day
and kill the day in between
but I must be an assassin
I’m so adept at delivering the coup de grace
to all the time we spent together
together we swore
that if you breathe what we do
and bleed in red too
then I won’t consume you
we lived and learned
but neither of us won
I know I lost
joined fists raised at a rally
and defiant banners
Bonnie and Clyde against the world.
For all the resolve I had and we shared
I consumed you
red blood and vibrant lungs all
and like yesterday’s food
turned us to shit
it’s so good to burn
but fire consumes its fuel
and this flaming moth
with a buckshot belly
prays that everytime something ends
it brings the beginning of something else
you know every time the sun sets
it’s going to rise again
but I’m sick of looking for the next one
I’m sick of the drinks I drink
in between sipping someone who matters
and still not finding my strawberry milkshake
I’m sick of thinking it’s a cycle in the first place
sick of ending up last when I put you first
life isn’t a race anyway, it’s a ride
so throw your hands up
and let the g-forces pull your screams
into a rictus of delicious deviance
the end is only a few feet behind the beginning
just hop back on and go again
even if you didn’t like the ride
but girl, fucking listen
I’m a teddy bear
I’m hairy and fuzzy and scratchy and cuddly
let me put my arms around you
let me hold you to me
and let me be the one you squeeze while you sleep
let be the one you curse at
and throw against the wall
when you can’t find your keys
let me the one
you leave on the floor forgotten
just let me the one
if only for a time
I’m so good at killing it
it’s all we’ve got, and it’s running out
so I’m burning my fuse to midnight
broken slippers and rotten pumpkins
when I let another peter pumpkin eater
scavenge the pieces of your fruit
but in the meantime
bring those predator eyes to bear on this bear
and let me know I’m home
I’m a wolf, I can run alone
I can take it
I can walk these lonely miles
but I want to run them with you
I want to bite you
I want to break you
like a tiger ready to pounce
and leave some marks
in your back
ever watch a cat
writhe and arch its back?
seen it take its time and enjoy its meal
before it kills it?
then you’ve got an idea
of what I can do for you
imagine the power in a snow leopard
I could save all that for you
because I’ve barely got a skeleton hand grip
on the steering wheel of my life
you can only move as fast
as who’s in front of you
so face me
and let me take you
from zero to finished
as fast as your engine can handle
maybe you can love like you’ve never been hurt
but I can love you until it hurts
and I think that maybe
you can only love if you’ve been hurt
you already know that this ticking time bomb
roller coaster ride
has a circular track
so you remember to ride it
until you get whiplash
love’s a good hurt at the best of times
and a magnificent car crash
when it’s even better
I know
I’ve lit cigarettes for after
while I lay on the bridges I’d burned
I’m a puppy, a wolf, a tiger
I’m a teddy bear
I know we can say goodbye
as soon as we say hello
that the last straw weighs less
than the first brick in the wall
but you should still
stop and say hello
if you’ve ever seen a dog drinking water
you already know
this puppy gives good bye
Loyalty Sworn
I don't even really have a title for this one. It's the first "happy" one I've written, that wasn't for a specific girl, or any situation like that. I usually write angry, or sad - I feel most people do - and so I tried my hand at this shindig.
I mentioned a few months ago how Thrice was blowing my mind with their new album, lyrically and musically; one song called "The Weight" is perhaps one of the best love songs I've ever heard, heavy or not. It's simply epic; here's the lyrics:
http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/thrice/theweight.html
One of the couplets is:
"And come what may, I won’t abandon you or leave you behind,
Because love is a loyalty sworn, not a burning for a moment."
This is what came out of that:
if love is a loyalty sworn not a burden
why do we speak of it as a ball and chain
the bond to bind the bond
the studded mace at the end of hard chain links
to shatter the shield of your resolve
but I refuse to believe in burdens
if love is a loyalty sworn
and not a burden borne
I want to kneel at your feet
and kiss my oath on your toes
I think of all the cigarettes and patient sex
we could have had on our porch
driving the sun below the line of the sky
tracing my fingers across your thighs
until it melts on the horizon
like the egg yolks leaking
from the over-easy breakfast
I brought you in bed
I want to peel your mind
like an onion
and find every layer inside
so I can tremble at your thoughts
like a leaf caught in the Santa Ana wind
I want to burn
I want my skin to crawl
as I walk a steaming tunnel of fire
caught in the oven of reunion
to end up in your arms
our chests pressed together
our heads pressed together
I want to learn every one of your smiles
1
when you’re surprised and delighted
your eyes shine like headlamps
through San Fran fog
beckoning me home
2
when you’re nervous
put the blindfold on
and take my hand
we’re going out
it’s a surprise
and I love it because
you’re so cute when you bite your lip
3
when you take what’s yours
when you own it
assume it
dominate it
claim it
climb on top and hold it
4
when you’re oh so close
and I know your coming
I want your legs choking
my ears while I work
I want to rear back and see it
just on the corners of your lips
with eyes closed
until just before the end
5
when you’re sleeping
curled in a ball
the way you fit perfectly in my arms
and I can’t help
but kiss your nose
6
when you’re pissed
and don’t you to show it
way too much teeth
you’re trying to hard to fake it
7
when you’re not really pissed
but you’re trying to pretend
and failing completely
I can tell
and I’m going to keep tickling you
8
when you’re proud
yeah you did it
they loved your show
I want to learn every inch of you
and your thoughts
I want to learn
how your hair falls
across your naked breasts
the way you look when you come
I want to eat massive quantities of nutmeg
and have French vanilla buttercream frosting sex
with cinnamon swirl pancakes for dessert
lying in bed
how you like your eggs and your coffee
when you finally awake
the way sweat runs down your back
our favorite way to cuddle
I want to round trip with you
to cities where they speak funny
to forests where we can’t set up our tent
to beaches where we lose our clothes
and run through the water anyway
I want to watch your goldenrod feet
drum sunlight tattoos
on the giving ground
barefoot and free
I want to pipe dream restaurants
and build communal houses
and push them all past disbelief
into reality
with you laughing by my side
I want to take one way trips with you
to everywhere we will be
and always move ahead
through anything
through everything
I want to roadtrip
through this life with you
choking on your farts
even with the windows down
I want to trip while tripping
across the sawdust plains
and living wood forests of the West
to stroll vegetable television
through the peach groves in Sicily
through the hills and the valleys
the bills and the new house we build
the mid life restaurant
the mistakes
the birthdays and holidays
to get home to the couch
I swear those were mine
and Dominoes and Coldstone
do not mix
like we do
tangled and tickled
snuggled and satisfied
I want to wash your hair
and run the soap down the curves of your back
and the freckles on your shoulder blade
I want to spin you
put you through some moves
in the middle of the crowd
for no reason at all
except we’ve got legs
and love
and each other
and the thing is
I haven’t found you yet
I’ve been looking
but you’re so damned hard to find
and I hope
that you’re looking too
because I want to meet soon
life’s waiting
let’s start the car
grab the wheel
and drive
find me
and take my hand
I swear my love
I swear my loyalty
I swear
I’m yours
I mentioned a few months ago how Thrice was blowing my mind with their new album, lyrically and musically; one song called "The Weight" is perhaps one of the best love songs I've ever heard, heavy or not. It's simply epic; here's the lyrics:
http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/thrice/theweight.html
One of the couplets is:
"And come what may, I won’t abandon you or leave you behind,
Because love is a loyalty sworn, not a burning for a moment."
This is what came out of that:
if love is a loyalty sworn not a burden
why do we speak of it as a ball and chain
the bond to bind the bond
the studded mace at the end of hard chain links
to shatter the shield of your resolve
but I refuse to believe in burdens
if love is a loyalty sworn
and not a burden borne
I want to kneel at your feet
and kiss my oath on your toes
I think of all the cigarettes and patient sex
we could have had on our porch
driving the sun below the line of the sky
tracing my fingers across your thighs
until it melts on the horizon
like the egg yolks leaking
from the over-easy breakfast
I brought you in bed
I want to peel your mind
like an onion
and find every layer inside
so I can tremble at your thoughts
like a leaf caught in the Santa Ana wind
I want to burn
I want my skin to crawl
as I walk a steaming tunnel of fire
caught in the oven of reunion
to end up in your arms
our chests pressed together
our heads pressed together
I want to learn every one of your smiles
1
when you’re surprised and delighted
your eyes shine like headlamps
through San Fran fog
beckoning me home
2
when you’re nervous
put the blindfold on
and take my hand
we’re going out
it’s a surprise
and I love it because
you’re so cute when you bite your lip
3
when you take what’s yours
when you own it
assume it
dominate it
claim it
climb on top and hold it
4
when you’re oh so close
and I know your coming
I want your legs choking
my ears while I work
I want to rear back and see it
just on the corners of your lips
with eyes closed
until just before the end
5
when you’re sleeping
curled in a ball
the way you fit perfectly in my arms
and I can’t help
but kiss your nose
6
when you’re pissed
and don’t you to show it
way too much teeth
you’re trying to hard to fake it
7
when you’re not really pissed
but you’re trying to pretend
and failing completely
I can tell
and I’m going to keep tickling you
8
when you’re proud
yeah you did it
they loved your show
I want to learn every inch of you
and your thoughts
I want to learn
how your hair falls
across your naked breasts
the way you look when you come
I want to eat massive quantities of nutmeg
and have French vanilla buttercream frosting sex
with cinnamon swirl pancakes for dessert
lying in bed
how you like your eggs and your coffee
when you finally awake
the way sweat runs down your back
our favorite way to cuddle
I want to round trip with you
to cities where they speak funny
to forests where we can’t set up our tent
to beaches where we lose our clothes
and run through the water anyway
I want to watch your goldenrod feet
drum sunlight tattoos
on the giving ground
barefoot and free
I want to pipe dream restaurants
and build communal houses
and push them all past disbelief
into reality
with you laughing by my side
I want to take one way trips with you
to everywhere we will be
and always move ahead
through anything
through everything
I want to roadtrip
through this life with you
choking on your farts
even with the windows down
I want to trip while tripping
across the sawdust plains
and living wood forests of the West
to stroll vegetable television
through the peach groves in Sicily
through the hills and the valleys
the bills and the new house we build
the mid life restaurant
the mistakes
the birthdays and holidays
to get home to the couch
I swear those were mine
and Dominoes and Coldstone
do not mix
like we do
tangled and tickled
snuggled and satisfied
I want to wash your hair
and run the soap down the curves of your back
and the freckles on your shoulder blade
I want to spin you
put you through some moves
in the middle of the crowd
for no reason at all
except we’ve got legs
and love
and each other
and the thing is
I haven’t found you yet
I’ve been looking
but you’re so damned hard to find
and I hope
that you’re looking too
because I want to meet soon
life’s waiting
let’s start the car
grab the wheel
and drive
find me
and take my hand
I swear my love
I swear my loyalty
I swear
I’m yours
My Students
This is a poem by a 2nd year TFA-er at my school; it's not one of mine.
My Students
Yes, he is one of mine
And that one too
The one who is always cussing at you
The runaway
The punk
The troublemaker
The thug
You have the nerve to tell me you think he is on drugs
Yes, my students are assholes and dicks
But you once called him a son of a bitch
They frustrate, they disrupt, the drive you up walls
They are the reason your classroom management is balls
But he is one of mine
It’s my job to love him
To hold him, to praise him and to hug him
Because no one else puts up with his shit
But he’s not an asshole to me so I don’t mind a bit
It’s just a shame that you can’t get him to learn
Because he’s got a brain inside there, and a heart
It’s only because his mom died, it was torn apart
And it was hard for him to understand
Why his dad was in jail and not holding his hand
He acts out to get attention
There are like 12 other siblings in his grandmother’s basement
Oh yes, he’s mine and look at me, I am so “patient”
Just cuz I have the common sense not to drive this kid apeshit
Don’t get pissed off when I say “He’s fine.”
As if that would take intervention from the divine
You are scared to have him in your class, kids may get hurt
I’m sorry, I thought YOU were the adult
Try handling his life and you may find
That it’s not so bad when he talks out of line
Maybe I have a soft spot for emotionally disabled
But nothing in this kids life has ever been stable
So we eat lunch and then we talk
He calms down and smiles when we take a walk
This kid is sweet!
Fuck you for saying he’ll wind up on the street
So ya, he is one of mine
And I’ll take him in
Because as soon as he enters YOUR classroom the shit-show begins
But I think he is the shit
When he puts on a show
And raps for me
A rhyme that he wrote
Just cuz he’s mine
Doesn’t mean he’s not yours too
And maybe if your classroom
WASN’T a zoo
You could see how much this kid rocks
Sporting a pair of mismatching socks
He melts my heart when he brings me flowers
And I swear his smile has super powers
He’s a champ
He’s a doll
He’s my fucking hero
For still trying at life as he receives zero
Yup, he’s one of mine
And I’ll take him.
My Students
Yes, he is one of mine
And that one too
The one who is always cussing at you
The runaway
The punk
The troublemaker
The thug
You have the nerve to tell me you think he is on drugs
Yes, my students are assholes and dicks
But you once called him a son of a bitch
They frustrate, they disrupt, the drive you up walls
They are the reason your classroom management is balls
But he is one of mine
It’s my job to love him
To hold him, to praise him and to hug him
Because no one else puts up with his shit
But he’s not an asshole to me so I don’t mind a bit
It’s just a shame that you can’t get him to learn
Because he’s got a brain inside there, and a heart
It’s only because his mom died, it was torn apart
And it was hard for him to understand
Why his dad was in jail and not holding his hand
He acts out to get attention
There are like 12 other siblings in his grandmother’s basement
Oh yes, he’s mine and look at me, I am so “patient”
Just cuz I have the common sense not to drive this kid apeshit
Don’t get pissed off when I say “He’s fine.”
As if that would take intervention from the divine
You are scared to have him in your class, kids may get hurt
I’m sorry, I thought YOU were the adult
Try handling his life and you may find
That it’s not so bad when he talks out of line
Maybe I have a soft spot for emotionally disabled
But nothing in this kids life has ever been stable
So we eat lunch and then we talk
He calms down and smiles when we take a walk
This kid is sweet!
Fuck you for saying he’ll wind up on the street
So ya, he is one of mine
And I’ll take him in
Because as soon as he enters YOUR classroom the shit-show begins
But I think he is the shit
When he puts on a show
And raps for me
A rhyme that he wrote
Just cuz he’s mine
Doesn’t mean he’s not yours too
And maybe if your classroom
WASN’T a zoo
You could see how much this kid rocks
Sporting a pair of mismatching socks
He melts my heart when he brings me flowers
And I swear his smile has super powers
He’s a champ
He’s a doll
He’s my fucking hero
For still trying at life as he receives zero
Yup, he’s one of mine
And I’ll take him.
AIMS
The kids are in their third day of AIMS testing; they get crazy focused. It's really interesting to see how amped the get about something like this, even those who don't give a fuck about school 99% of the time.
In my homeroom, I saw a girl come in with a book, a pencil, dress code-appropriate clothing, and a smile I rarely see - one that says she's here to try, rather than throw things. I raised an eyebrow, and she just said simply "Oh, no, I don't fuck around with AIMS. I come to work for this test," took her seat, and asked for a pencil.
Also, I have now done with them several college theater warm-ups before each section. They love shaking out their limbs and counting down by halves; they're interested in the "It feels so good just like I knew it would," but are having trouble with the rhythm (having me teach it probably doesn't help), but I caught them working on it at lunch; they like grabbing hands and squeezing a pulse around a group, and have a blast trying to count communally.
I stay with my homeroom all day, but I also see some of the other kids going to and from lunch - I was really happy, because they ran up to me to tell me "Mr.BubinMr.BubinImadeamegabubblemapandIevenT-chartedmyessay (pause to breathe) aren't you proud of me?"
That was pretty sweet.
My netbook crashed last week; apparently the motherboard melted. I don't fucking know. It means I have no computer for a few weeks, which is obnoxious, because progress reports are due soon, and my plans to start cranking out two or three pieces of erotica a week just got derailed.
The site launches in June, apparently; I wanted to have a good dozen stories up there before it gets underway.
On a vaguely related topic, I am a very productive motherfucker, even under the influence. I've been shitting out poems, and poem concepts, at a crazy rate. Even better, though, to tie it all back to the AIMS, three other teachers today showed me poems they'd written, that they finally wanted to share. One was about her kids; two were about their lives. It made me really happy. I'm going to post 'em, I think, and give 'em some credit.
In my homeroom, I saw a girl come in with a book, a pencil, dress code-appropriate clothing, and a smile I rarely see - one that says she's here to try, rather than throw things. I raised an eyebrow, and she just said simply "Oh, no, I don't fuck around with AIMS. I come to work for this test," took her seat, and asked for a pencil.
Also, I have now done with them several college theater warm-ups before each section. They love shaking out their limbs and counting down by halves; they're interested in the "It feels so good just like I knew it would," but are having trouble with the rhythm (having me teach it probably doesn't help), but I caught them working on it at lunch; they like grabbing hands and squeezing a pulse around a group, and have a blast trying to count communally.
I stay with my homeroom all day, but I also see some of the other kids going to and from lunch - I was really happy, because they ran up to me to tell me "Mr.BubinMr.BubinImadeamegabubblemapandIevenT-chartedmyessay (pause to breathe) aren't you proud of me?"
That was pretty sweet.
My netbook crashed last week; apparently the motherboard melted. I don't fucking know. It means I have no computer for a few weeks, which is obnoxious, because progress reports are due soon, and my plans to start cranking out two or three pieces of erotica a week just got derailed.
The site launches in June, apparently; I wanted to have a good dozen stories up there before it gets underway.
On a vaguely related topic, I am a very productive motherfucker, even under the influence. I've been shitting out poems, and poem concepts, at a crazy rate. Even better, though, to tie it all back to the AIMS, three other teachers today showed me poems they'd written, that they finally wanted to share. One was about her kids; two were about their lives. It made me really happy. I'm going to post 'em, I think, and give 'em some credit.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Amazing at Football
At the first poetry club meeting, I tried to teach the kids how to write a slam poem. I told them to think of things from their past that had made them sad, mad, or hurt them; and to write about it. One method I told them was to write as if they were saying everything they had ever wanted to say to someone, if that person had to listen and couldn't interrupt. I didn't quite do that, but I tried taking my own advice and this is what popped out.
Amazing at Football
There's a kid
who carves swastikas
into his eyelids
and his cheeks
he's pretty creepy
but I can talk to him about you
he understands
all the things I want
to do to you
not really, I suppose
neither of us do
we're both in 4th grade
we don't really know what it means
to tie someone up
out in the woods
cut them a thousand times
add salt and vinegar
and let them lie there
for a few weeks
we talk about it
I, I dream about it
but we've probably just seen it
in the movies
sure, it's monstrous
but for ou
it's more than you deserve
my mother doesn't scream
not when you put her
through the shower door
not when you wrap your hands
around her throat
not when you're stringing nooses
in the backyard
there's thuds and grunts
but she only screams
when you come after us
my sisters are not sluts
my brother and I are not pieces of shit
you could've worked for Pinochet
you know every spot on the body that hurts
from the web of the ears
to the nerves in the armpit
they cry, they scream
so Mom screams
I don't
not anymore
I don't scream
I don't cry
I'm used to it
thanks to you
I do not feel pan
I'm aware it exists
but I can turn it off
like a switch
I will say this
it makes me amazing at football
good thig I'm the oldest
that I'm big, that I'm a boy
it means I piss you off the most
it means I can take the heat
off the others
I can handle the fists
and the belt
and the boots
it means I can endure
it means I'm gonna be awesome at football
but
it doesn't mean I'm strong enough
to stand up to you
to feed you a steak knife
while you sleep
to Mark McGwire a cast-iron skillet
at your temple
while you're busy
with someone else's neck
to end you and our suffering
to make the lives
of six roses and one hawk
better
I'm amazing at footbal
but you don't care,
and I'm sick of it
sick of the question
"what does your father do?"
and making up some new story
so sick of hearing
"he's such a great father"
and biting back the truth
sick of tasting the salt in my blood
like the lies of home sweet home
so sick of being a father
at 12, 14, 16, 18
so sick of being terrifie
of worrying about blood on the walls
when I call the house
and no one picks up the phone
I'm sick of making more money than you
I'm in high school
it's not my job
to put food on the table
I'm sick of the numb horror
at watching someone else
hit the wall floor furniture
because I didn't get in the way
fast enough
I'm sick of all this
and it makes me fucking amazing at football
because I run on rage
I channel fire and hell
I put kids in the hospital
I run raw fuck you all across 100 yards
white hot yellow supernova
and it scares teh fuck out of me
because I look like you
I sound like you
and my biggest fear
is that I am you
that this fire
that runs me
that loves me
that consumes me
is yours
my model for life
is everything you are not
my to-do list is
everythin you never did
my moral code
is not doing what you are
so I used to speak to Swastika Boy
of vigilantism and vengeance
I broke the children of the woods
while they broke my legs and hands
ntil the screams are gone
I took and tossed girls
like the Band-Aids they weren't
it's so much easier to help someone else
than to fix yourself
let me love you
and be your needy cure
but I've seen where that goes
and my worst future is your footsteps
so forget being amazing at football
I found release for rage in ink
on skin
and page
I don't need this fire
I've got water and ice
to melt the mountains
to wash it all away
fuck football
I'd rather be the real thing
you never even imagined
a friend
a lover
a partner
a husbad
a son
a human
an artist
a worker
a person
a man
I dont' think it reads very well, but it was fun, and it's good to perform. This week, I think.
Amazing at Football
There's a kid
who carves swastikas
into his eyelids
and his cheeks
he's pretty creepy
but I can talk to him about you
he understands
all the things I want
to do to you
not really, I suppose
neither of us do
we're both in 4th grade
we don't really know what it means
to tie someone up
out in the woods
cut them a thousand times
add salt and vinegar
and let them lie there
for a few weeks
we talk about it
I, I dream about it
but we've probably just seen it
in the movies
sure, it's monstrous
but for ou
it's more than you deserve
my mother doesn't scream
not when you put her
through the shower door
not when you wrap your hands
around her throat
not when you're stringing nooses
in the backyard
there's thuds and grunts
but she only screams
when you come after us
my sisters are not sluts
my brother and I are not pieces of shit
you could've worked for Pinochet
you know every spot on the body that hurts
from the web of the ears
to the nerves in the armpit
they cry, they scream
so Mom screams
I don't
not anymore
I don't scream
I don't cry
I'm used to it
thanks to you
I do not feel pan
I'm aware it exists
but I can turn it off
like a switch
I will say this
it makes me amazing at football
good thig I'm the oldest
that I'm big, that I'm a boy
it means I piss you off the most
it means I can take the heat
off the others
I can handle the fists
and the belt
and the boots
it means I can endure
it means I'm gonna be awesome at football
but
it doesn't mean I'm strong enough
to stand up to you
to feed you a steak knife
while you sleep
to Mark McGwire a cast-iron skillet
at your temple
while you're busy
with someone else's neck
to end you and our suffering
to make the lives
of six roses and one hawk
better
I'm amazing at footbal
but you don't care,
and I'm sick of it
sick of the question
"what does your father do?"
and making up some new story
so sick of hearing
"he's such a great father"
and biting back the truth
sick of tasting the salt in my blood
like the lies of home sweet home
so sick of being a father
at 12, 14, 16, 18
so sick of being terrifie
of worrying about blood on the walls
when I call the house
and no one picks up the phone
I'm sick of making more money than you
I'm in high school
it's not my job
to put food on the table
I'm sick of the numb horror
at watching someone else
hit the wall floor furniture
because I didn't get in the way
fast enough
I'm sick of all this
and it makes me fucking amazing at football
because I run on rage
I channel fire and hell
I put kids in the hospital
I run raw fuck you all across 100 yards
white hot yellow supernova
and it scares teh fuck out of me
because I look like you
I sound like you
and my biggest fear
is that I am you
that this fire
that runs me
that loves me
that consumes me
is yours
my model for life
is everything you are not
my to-do list is
everythin you never did
my moral code
is not doing what you are
so I used to speak to Swastika Boy
of vigilantism and vengeance
I broke the children of the woods
while they broke my legs and hands
ntil the screams are gone
I took and tossed girls
like the Band-Aids they weren't
it's so much easier to help someone else
than to fix yourself
let me love you
and be your needy cure
but I've seen where that goes
and my worst future is your footsteps
so forget being amazing at football
I found release for rage in ink
on skin
and page
I don't need this fire
I've got water and ice
to melt the mountains
to wash it all away
fuck football
I'd rather be the real thing
you never even imagined
a friend
a lover
a partner
a husbad
a son
a human
an artist
a worker
a person
a man
I dont' think it reads very well, but it was fun, and it's good to perform. This week, I think.
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