Habit Mathematics

(Click the "poetry" tag to see other poems and songs more easily.)

I just replied to a craigslist posting seeking erotica; if I could make cash writing that, that would be a nice sidejob. A little absurd, but pretty fun - I submitted a thousand words from an old story I wrote for an ex, which was easy enough, because I also have no idea how legit the posting is.

I also signed up on Associated Content and Gather; I want to see if I can post things and make some side cash. That would be sexy, pun intended.

Last night, 3 of my kids came to the Black Pearl Slam, and I was so happy about it. I re-did "They Are," which was what they had come to hear anyway. It occurred to me that I haven't put any rhymes or poems up here in awhile; here's one that I already have typed up, called "Habit Mathematics."

I'm a simple man, and
God knows I’ve got no plan
I’ve got tattoos to mix with my scars
I’ve got this new predilection for bars
Where I can sit and break my heart
Freeze, and fucking rip myself apart
It’s fun,’cuz it makes the words start

Yeah, I’m an addict
But there’s a mathematics to my habits
There’s benediction in my addiction
And all kinds of seduction in this self-destruction
I pay in the black and the blue and the brown
Let it take me up like a plane bound to go down
I fall to my knees and rip these words out of the ground

I’ve never really been a fan of the warmth in the whiskey
It doesn’t help me forget all those that don’t miss me
And the caramel’s no replacement for the way you used to kiss me
I’d rather play with my salt and tequila
So I don’t have to think about who gets to feel ya
I’ve spent my time sobbing and drunk, sober and bitter
I’ve planned my pointless pathetic plots on the shitter
Now I grab a pen and a brew to wash away the blues
Seconds after I get home and kick off my shoes
I could be afraid, I could feel fear
But not after I’ve cracked open a couple of beers
I sit and I scribble, flow till I’m serene
My body gets dirty but my mind stays clean
It’s a lie but it’s what I do when I flow
When I write and don’t care if you know
I sit and I spaz until the rooster crows
Keeping warm in the cold light of the fact that everybody goes
Sitting here with my pen in my hand
I don’t know if this is the measure of a man
It’s kinda silly and anybody can
I could be drifting off in bed
But I’d rather write the things I should’ve said
All the leftover thoughts rolling around in my head
Two legs spread wide and waiting in the toolshed

Yeah, I’m an addict
But there’s a mathematics to my habits
There’s benediction in my addiction
And all kinds of seduction in this self-destruction
I pay in the black and the blue and the brown
Let it take me up like a plane bound to go down
I fall to my knees and rip these words out of the ground

I spark up my bic fairy
And light up a new cherry
As the flavor hits my lungs
I let go of the bottom rung
I can feel the smoke inside burning
And my stomach finally stops turning
It takes on the slow stillness of death
The hard pride of absolutely nothing left
I let the smoke billow through my car
While I’m cruising to and from the bar
Maybe these cigarettes make my hands shake
But something else slows em down so I can sit and make
So I can paint pictures with my words
Get high and fly with the birds
I push myself, and pretend that I’m great
Keep track of my lonely travels through these dirty states
Happiness, joy, lust and despair
Twist em together to give and to share
Now the coffee’s got my mind’s humming
My heart pounding my leg drumming
I can feel the words man, they’re coming
In my veins I got the nicotine seeping
For now my heart’s still beating
While the words keep on keepin
Another hit but now it’s my breathing
Getting a little choked and soft
My pulse is starting to get off
Wonder if I’m getting that smoker’s cough
Sitting here burning out the lining of my nose
With smoke soaking into my clothes
Before long, we all gotta go
What your time might be, nobody knows
Maybe speeding mine up is the price of a flow
Yeah, I’m an addict
But there’s a mathematics to my habits
There’s benediction in my addiction
And all kinds of seduction in this self-destruction
I pay in the black and the blue and the brown
Let it take me up like a plane bound to go down
I fall to my knees and rip these words out of the ground

Now, I savor the pain
So my words flow like the wheels on a train
Blind, fast, insane
In case you ain’t figured it out yet
This last is the reason I sweat
Taking words and put ‘em to a rhythm so I can ride
Like the bodies of enemies killed I don’t bother to hide
I’d rather put ‘em on display,
put ‘em on a page, lock, load, spray
I can feel ‘em coming night and day
They take hold of me
They get control of me
Whenever they fit the sound
You gotta be quick to write ‘em down
Before you forget it
Because if you let it get it away
You might get stuck with nothing to say
It would kill me because I gotta let ‘em out
They thrill me and now I can’t go without
I love it, I live it
I eat it, I breathe it
So I don’t’ get mad at myself
When I’m all kinds of bad to myself
No, I didn’t get no sleep this week
But the way I see it, sleep is for the weak
The sweets and the treats don’t go to the meek
Go hard, baby, and stay out late
Your only hope of beating back fate
So what if I up the pace
With a case to the face
It helps my pen chase
All the words I can find
In the valley of my mind
As I lay their bodies on the page
I’m making gunpowder out of my rage
So maybe I’m all torn up and I’m a mess
Get some popcorn and admire my distress
‘cuz I can sit in a storm and feel blessed
I know how to keep warm in the shadow of death

Yeah, I'm an addict
But there’ s a mathematics to my habits

They Are

(If you click the "Poetry" tag on the bottom of the post, it brings up all the poems and songs that I've posted.")

Two weeks ago, I had the first ten lines pop into my head; yesterday, stuck in professional development, I thought about my kids - who I hadn't seen all week, since I'd been at home - and the rest of it just sprang out entire. I got to present it as the sacrificial poet last night at Black Pearl; it was cool, but it was the first reading of it I'd done. I did it for Lizzy B this morning, and I kicked it up another notch in rhythm - it made me a little mad at myself, I need to stop doing first readings at the mic, I should save things and practice them a bit. I get more of a rush from performing something that' s rehearsed, it feels tighter. Anyway, here's

They Are

They are bleeding
there’s 13 holes in his chest
one for every year of his life
and yeah, he runs with the wrong crowd
but it was uncle that had the knife
so now he still runs the court
but he slows when it burns
the missing pieces, I mean
they burn
they’re bleeding, and it’s embarrassing
the nurse quit because they terrified her
she wasn’t alone, the subs run away
crying
and it makes them laugh
but now there’s no one
to give out tampons pads napkins Midol
and the teacher has to ask the class
“does anyone have a tampon she can use?”,
as if life wasn’t embarrassing enough,
because the guys in 10th period are laughing
about what they they did to her last night
what she let them do
after he said I love you
they’re homeless
when you first find out one of your kids is homeless
it will shake you
they’re always late to class and
they’re always wearing the same cigarette-burn hole t-shirt
it’s summer school
so
when you are late just three times you are expelled
but when you walk them to the office
the secretary pulls you to the side
and says quietly
“they’re okay
“they’re homeless
“they can stay, you can take them back
and you don’t know how
okay and homeless
can describe the same child
and his tears
and you can’t cry - !
if you lose it
everybody is going to lose it
so, bite your lip.
they already feel bad.
they are seriously apologetic, they are sorry
they didn’t do their homework
yes, some are pissed
but others are legitimately sorry
and embarrassed
there are no pencils in the homeless shelter
and if you’ve never thought about it
there are degrees
there are shades of homelessness
they taught me that
it’s not just hobos and shelters
it’s the boy and his mom trading nights
on the couch
at his aunt’s house
when they can get in
it’s no wonder he’s pissed
he’s been wearing this hoodie all week
it smells like vomit and sweat
he’s mad because he’s fat, too
and he doesn’t know
if it’s better
to keep that hoodie zipped
and hide the pit stains
or take it off and drip
but nothing hides the sweat
and the shame and the shine on his face
they’re 12
they’re 13
they play at being adults
they drink barley
smoke marley
they don’t know the man, or the music
but they will light that shit up
they’ve got wine in solo cups, and
I think pills, pills are coming to town
because some of them have these pink spots
by their mouth
and they can’t stop scratching
they play at being adults
and they’re just as bad at it
as we are
she’s crying in 9th period
the test
was positive
she’s hoping they’re wrong
she’s too young to be a mom
she’s terrified, but she won’t be alone
and she’s jealous
because the girl sitting across from her
only caught herpes from him
now these 13 year old adults
couldn’t tell you what the economy is
couldn’t explain it, or define it
but someone needs to fix it
they know that
because Dad is sad
his job is gone
and he’s not happy anymore
he seems tiny and he never smiles
so Obama please, she edited her letter to you
twice
you need to fix it
but he, he doesn’t care about that
his dad got his throat slit
so I know why he’s throwing that chair
because this letter
is NOT going to bring him back
they ache
family is in jail
family is dead
family is crying, dying, and deported
they’re not making up the work
and it’s disappointing, but how can I blame them
they ache they weep they bleed
they hurt
they’re everywhere
she’s 3, and she pees funny
because her mother doesn’t like it
when she cries
so she grabbed her by the ankles
and swung her soft little skull into the wall
stop.
fucking.
crying.
she’s 11, she’s got AIDS
because Daddy drinks
and when Daddy drinks, he takes what he wants
they are so strong
I need you to understand that
they face all this
and they persevere
they are angry and frustrated
they are bleeding and crying
they hurt when they shouldn’t
it shouldn’t hurt to be a child
and they will take your breath away
they are brilliant
they are complex
they are funny
“playing soccer is like having babies. there’s always someone kicking you, and it happens in all seasons”
they’re funny, and they’ll steal your heart
“our class is like my fingernails. we’re all beautiful and I’d hate to lose any of ‘em”
“our class is like a brick wall we fit together perfectly
and we’re not complete with a single one of us missing”
“mr. B, have you ever been to juvie? or jail? I just
wanted to know if teachers make mistakes
too. I’m not going to be here tomorrow”
“hey, where’s your notebooks, guys?”
“Mr. B, would you do us a favor?”
“I have no unicorns but I do have free
pencils, what can I get you guys?”
“…Mr. B, would you quit smoking for us?”
I’ve cried in front of them
I cried then, and other times
I don’t feel like I deserve
to stand here in front of them
I tremble in awe and pride
at the things they achieve
I don’t teach them
I try to make them smile
so they can break out of their shell
and shine
and forget
that they’re not meant to make it
and light up with
everything they already knew
but don’t usually admit to themselves
forget teaching them
I want to get out of their way
I need you to do the same
so they can run this world
they go through so much
they hurt and cry
and that they still dream
that makes their hearts a triumph
for what they face
they still love, and care, and dream
that’s the triumph
it restores my faith in the future
of what it could be
of what it should be
of what it can and will be
it should restore your faith, too
they’re amazing, let them show you
they’re the future

Acute Bronchitis Sucks

I'm so tired of being sick; fuck cigarettes.
I've missed five of the last seven days of school - my first sick days all year - and it's driving me apeshit. I don't feel so horrible I feel incapable of doing things, but I feel shitty, and I'm not really capable of speech. At home, I don't talk all day; when roommates get home, even five minutes of conversation was enough to send me into coughing spasms intense enough for me to vomit.
I tried to go in last week, and coughed so much I started spraying blood from my nose by the afternoon. (That will get a class quiet and terrified real fast.)

Anyway, I'm getting stir-crazy at home, though I've gotten tons of grading and things done. Today, it hit me mid-afternoon (though it had occurred to me last night) that it was my ex's birthday. I was pissed at myself for knowing, for giving a fuck, for wondering what her birthday was like.

I was pissed at myself, because I thought of the last two February 9th's. To be fair, nothing crazy happened on either; or at least, nothing that I was a part of. I was stuck in initiations in 2008, and in 2009, the Vagina Monologues were nigh. But nice things happened to commemorate the occasion; modern dance and Mediterranean food with wine and blindfolds, a crammed Manhattan cafe watching a three-piece group perform beatboxed versions of Peter and the Wolf and other things.

One of those days was two weeks before I was cheated on; the other may have been during such a time period, for all I know.

I'm so tired of thinking of all these old things, and for tying them to doubts and dark things when I do think of them, that they can't even be nice memories.

I want to ache in a good way, to feel excellent pain; to feel like I'm electrified by someone.

I dug this out of an old blog:
"I was doing laundry this morning, and it occurred to me that I want to burn. It was a way of describing it that just came into my head. Earlier I'd written about having someone to do special things with, but this is just some kind of way to put it--I want to burn. This isn't a desire as bad as the others, but this would be nice--to have a hand brush down the back of my neck and feel like there's high-voltage wires under my skin, like there's a thousand butterfly wings dancing just beyond my skin, to feel like there's a howling wind in my ears, and like much of the world's disappearing when I talk to them. Because there's little else important enough to jump on my radar. that's burning. when there is just such a jolt because you were talking to someone or you brushed by them or just looked back over your shoulder and felt your skin burn. "

Tonight, I just drove, I sat, I went and lesson planned in a gay bar with roommates.

Haha - oh man, Phoenix, you and I do some weird shit.