harlequin romance

Love....
But
Love
In the dirt
With the worm
As silent witness-
God's Digestion
Content.
To Covet
And Fly/Cast.
Go Bye
A Cell

The problem with psychology is the suggest ability of the human mind which is very high.  I see all these people walking around with i-pods, listening to their favorite music, and I think of   "Invasion of the Body Snatchers".   I left my therapist because I think it is enough  to be bi-polar.  If I had stayed I'm sure that she would be having me with 12 multiple personalities and publishing a tell-all psychology book about their identities in the same vein as "Sybil".  I wanted to fuck her of course, but she was married, so I left her.  Maybe she could have even justified it in the name of science.
My clock is ticking down, all our clocks are.  That is the terrifying thing about life.  We are all night watchmen walking around it turning the key at all the high lights and low lights of out existence recording our moments for God to digest when we burn up in his love.   Or sneak around it by going up his ass-hole, but God is nothing if not patient.  Every dog has its day.  Eventually the sun will turn into a "red" giant and cook the inner planets.  Maybe we will have stopped wasting time killing ourselves and moved on by then, but I kind of doubt it.  It is the tribal nature of man-kind to look at itself as us and the other.
"The Feast of the Harlequin" has to be one of my favorite short stories.  Thomas Ligotti has to be the second coming of EAP.  This poem is of course in his honor.

new day rising

mean people suck the air right out of me;
i assume you like air.
when a person is manic
depressive
lets see if we can't
drive him to suicide
sounds like a real
'fun' game to me:
ass holes.
I have one too
u know.

slackers

has to be one of my favorite 'movies' It is basically a stream of consciousness film that starts with the director on a bus going to Austin, Texas.  He gets on a cab and then gets out and wanders off.  We now go from third person perspective to first person with the director now behind the camera.  The rest of the film is basically a trip through Austin, an urban songline with no apparent destination.  It is a love song to a time and a place that unfortunately is no more.  As the saying goes, you can never go home, for that place will never be as you remembered it.  Fortunately,  "Austin City Limits" is still there to remind us a little of the greatness of that town.
Austin is of course the name of Emily Dickinson's brother but that is neither here nor there.

The sub-stance
Splits the light
into colors.
Do trusting dogs see rainbows?
For they can only see in black
and white.

And the prideful pussies,
As they preen,  strut
and go.
Do the fleas love them any
less for the beauty
they show?

my poems are not that subtle or clever, here is a short one from the master:

we shall find the cube of the rainbow,
Of that there is no doubt;
But the arc of a lover's conjecture
Eludes the finding out.

Is intelligence a sin just because prideful fools want to put the shotgun to their chin?  
Is there a hierarchy of love?  Flying planes into buildings is not going to teach any-one anything except fear.  How fucking old testament can you get.  How much gold in the universe do you want?
The ends do not justify the means.

9-26-11

Went to my favorite restaurant the other day.  The waiter gave the satan horns sign to some customers.  I decided not to eat there any more.  He is a fool any ways.  Too bad, I liked the food.  Guys are such idiots, I can say that because I am a guy.  There is no such thing as a free dinner though and I was hurting after that meal.  I have to start cooking for myself.

sore throat

Emma sees a square
lifting
up from despair
but the way is fraught
with tools
given
not bought
and flees the scene
for the mere.


Dream:  Hanging out with nice girl who throws herbs on me that I have no idea what they do.  Then this guy comes in picks up a table and starts rubbing it on his crotch demanding weed and booze.

I wake up and wonder what the hell that one meant.  I do have to say that I do tend to beat off a bit much and it has led to my distancing myself from the world.  I'm almost one month without smoking any bud.  But I did have some drinks the other day and now I have a sore throat.  It serves me right.  

Inspiration

"if eyes were make for seeing,
Then Beauty is its own excuse for being:"
                                                               Ralph Waldo Emerson
It is the light in your
eyes that is beautiful
your happiness is
mined as well
Wishing
The soft beauty of breath
The silent beauty of Death
Deferring.

9-16-11

I've got this rant in my head, but I could never repeat it word for word.  It doesn't make me feel any better.  I don't think that is what people want to hear.  But I have to write something, if not only to excercise my fingers, to train them to move obediently.  My demons have already had enough excercise.
I bought a t-shirt from some guy a long time ago.  It had a drawing of a skull.  The message underneath proclaimed 'Neanderthals are among us, even now'.  That is so true.  I might fit the bill, but my feet are too small.   And my heart is too big.
-Poem in Progress-
Heaven Help ME
For Being a Sentimental
Sap
Oozing
From the Trees
Like Sticky Tears
Trapping the Flies
Come for a Taste
Hardening over Time
To Golden Amber
Preserving
Placed on a Shelf
In the cellar
to gather dust
trapped
in a new home.