Ode to the Normal

"What makes you tick..."
With her head in her hand.
Is it the new day?
Or with which foot you land?

I see you around
In fact, everywhere I roam,
I desire to rid my parts
Of this nagging feeling of home.

I was here once you know,
I bore it quite keen,
I, sponge and consumer
Imbibed in my gene.

It was only for fake
This I know for the truth,
I never fit quite well
Enough, too long in the tooth.

Why then still do I long and I wretch?
I am apart of a part
A dismembered sketch.

The lines are all there
Yet somethings amiss,
The motions are wrought
And I most listless.

Why i am the broken
It's never quite told,
I try to breach on
It's cold and I can't muster the bold.

So, I sit and I yearn
For a time when they'll see,
I've been here all the while
Scanning and Stifling and Longing to be.

The Art of Getting By

     There is great perfection in having the courage to be honest.  To rage with fearlessness at those too paralyzed to understand.  I rage....and I Regret.  Rinse.  Repeat.  Is the regret this very human connection to stand and fight for the due, present in all things?  I want to be good.  I adore that adjective.
     I want to do...good.  I hear a barrage of strings battling it out in my brain when posed with the choice to be good, to do good, or to be honest.  'Good' could kill a man you know.  Good can be somewhat...graceless.  When do common courtesy's fade to candid human interaction.  Perhaps alcohol appears in the foreground and makes it all palatable.  We can stomach the nonsense more aptly when intoxicated.  Or, on the contrary we are our most authentic selves once and all.  Why is there such difficulty in admittance?  Perhaps the horror, the horror of where we truly are would be deafening.  I want to have truthful interactions with others.  With everyone even.  I would be satiated with one a day.  What are we afraid of?  What is this ridiculous emotion which compels us to do our hearts such disservice?  Is fear even an emotion?  A cover for something more...substantial.  Something more fiendish?  Does it come in waves like misplaced anger? Is it uniquely feminine to complicate matters?  Not only of the heart but in matters of synergy?
     Men can be honest with their fists.  I often thought we had the high ground on that one.  We relate with our words.  Sure.  Lies.  We don't even know we do it half the time.  Especially with one bearing similar genetic stylings....chicks.  Chicks man.  Fucking Chicks.  We were sincere once upon a time.  But by the light of day our hideous behaviors come a prowlin'.  You'd think our encasings would remain throughout the dawn but no!  Alas, we sink into them even deeper;  Holding on with petulant hands and hate in our hearts.  Hate born from fear of ourselves and how others will respond to that depth or lacking profundity.
     How easy it is to remain there.  How comfortable it is to fall into it at our strongest.  Supplementing reality with coats of learned behavior.  I don't claim to be infallible in this.  I get caught up.  I see it.  I admit it.  So where next?  What other contaminants may I spew out to the world as to not get overtaken by them.  I don't ever want to live there.  Visiting helps to show me I still have a long way to go.  I won't fear it...me...them... anymore.  Let me bathe in the filth that I've created.  Let it find it's way down the sink.  Let me find comfort in what i possess.  Let the stains from things washed away fade and be kept at bay.

In The Sepulchral City

'I found myself resenting the sight of people hurrying though the streets to filch a little money from each other, to devour their infamous cookery, to gulp their unwholesome beer, to dream their insignificant and silly dreams.  They trespassed upon my thoughts,  They were intruders whose knowledge of life was to me an irritating pretence, because I felt so sure they could not possibly know the things I knew.  Their bearing, which was simply the bearing of commonplace individuals going about their business in the assurance of perfect safety, was offensive to me like the outrageous flauntings of folly in the face of a danger it is unable to comprehend.  I had no particular desire to enlighten them, but I had some difficulty in restraining myself from laughing in their faces, so full of stupid importance.'

My behavior as of late seems inexcusable.  I am not well.  Often filled to the brim with such intense hate.  So intense.  It's not my strength that requires nursing but my imagination that searches for soothing.  One hundred and thirteen years later and I feel the way Conrad did.  Would he still get these sparks of 'intensity'? The sparks affecting me seem to last longer...longer.  I feel a loss of control over my faculties...a loss of control over my control.  Being comfortable with my situation, sickens me.  Being bored is a fate worse than death.

What an Asshole

I said nothing.  Not a single word.  I'm sure the look on my face was...strained.  She ditched her popcorn by  a cars wheel and hunted down her keys-first real sign.  Then upon finding them amongst the tampons, dog hair and kid paraphenalia...(yah, she took it out of her ass once, thus creating life), lobbed her most gigantic of pops through the parking lot claiming, 'Don't wanna risk it.' And sat in the car.  Wave after wave of horribleness came out of this chicks mouth.

Uno momento por favor....

I am writing at my writing desk my grandma gave me.  I know that seems silly to write but to me it's poignant.  I recall a time where I would write terrible nonsense, totally different from now i know, on her typewriter at her very own 'writing desk'.  I've used this desk for a great many thing.  This is my first realization of my whereabouts...and its.

Anyhoo...I sat in silence which is the climax of this story.  It was my friends, friend and I allowed ridiculousness out of courtesy.  Courtesy?  Jesus Christ.  It would have been no skin off my back to rip her apart from ear to ear....but I chose to concede.  Would my hypothesized interjections have made a dent in this twat?  Am i just doing exactly what she did, now?  Is my judgement of her behavior just a reflection of my own  faults?  Am I the asshole as well as and in addition to?  Or?  Did this uneducated(in the moral realm and her brainy parts), MOTHER deserve a little checking.  It could have been delivered in such a manner that she would be taken off guard, not quite insulted cuz she doesn't really get what i just said and shut the fuck up.  Smooth but with after bite.  Who knows?  Not I.  For i chose to maintain civility.  What should I have done?  Which would be better for the world and not just a reactionary jerk of the articulatio genus?  I wanna be thoughtful for fucks sake...

I was in an understanding mood this evening.  Felt good.  I like good.  Good is....good and nothing quite compares.

Ode to Good

You are so fucking good, good.

I dig your crazy vibe

I wish I could spend more time with you

And all that imbibe with God on their side.

I've been thinking about this

And pining in wait

You can join me anytime

Good, and we'll bust open this hate gate.

  

Confessions of a Dangerous Mind

I want people to think I'm smart.

The End

The Foul Stench of Victory

What am I trying to say to you all of the time?  What is that I have to say?  I love you, dammit.

crimson and clover, over and over

I can be a child sometimes.  I can be aggressively selfish.  I raise my voice without provocation;  Not frequently, but it has been known to happen.  If I can admit this to someone, perhaps the voices will stop.  I may be insane.  It came to me that I attempted to decipher the shit that happens in my brain, fell completely ill to it and everything stalled out.  Interesting.  I can get so lost in my head sometimes that I can't see out.  I cry sometimes...ha, sometimes.  Negative or positive I can be heavily influenced.  I have a tendency towards competition.  That's all for now...exhausted.

K, I'm back.  What is this 'I' business, anyhow?  What is an insecurity and how does it connect to, seemingly, every aspect of your motherfucking being?  Why aren't we aware of our deficiencies when they are instilled for eternity?  Does Everyone drown from time to time?  Do we consume ourselves at such a furious rate that it comes spewing out in a great mass whilst continuing it's quest for complete suffocation...I know I've been hankering for a little self destruction.  I think that's what happens sometimes.  What else could it be?  Everything else sounds such a fallacious evasion.

I am a sheet of paper, fiber bare, and streaked with eraser marks.  Broken lead marks scuff my tired surface.  Being paper is very tiring.  Uninspired even.

'What use,' I demand.  I am strong most days.  I maintain better than anyone around...just ask...
What happens to a person when they're afraid of everything, forever?  What would that result look like?  Could not imagine what kind of infesting smell that would evoke.  I was thinking of smells today and how they are so very indicative of a persons health.  Mental or other I believe...all that shit be symbiotic anyway.  I saw a man sitting under a tree.  He was attached to oxygen and was the oddest kind of grey.  I whizzed by him on the old beastie, thought about how grateful I was to be me in that moment and imagined he smelt just a fright.  I'm not sure I want to experience that.

I want to breath like I'm in reverse.  I think this could be really helpful.  Being is difficult to maintain some days.  Not all days, not even most days...but it's enough.  Too much really.  My sanity seems to follow the vicissitudes of the lot.  I could be really great, you hear me!  Stupendous even.  I don't require a fucking hand holding-weepy cry fest-babbling emotional strife filled-moon madness-meltdown to get through every hurdle that attempts to impale me with its slivers...creosote tipped slivers of death!  (I was funny once.)  It looks dark down there though...and there could be spiders.  Also, it seems a bit chilly...just give me a finger.

What are you doing...

I asked myself without really asking.  I wrote out these words, not in this order in my brain, but on the page.


insecure
attention
truth=disrespect
blame
crying
guilt
lunacy


I know these words.  I've lived that.  I thought I required so very little.  Why must I be the one confused?  Disoriented...stunned...and severely stupid?  Every song speaks to me from you.  Ridiculous.  Thought this was going to be a bit of a sad one...it looks up.  Well, sullen anyhow...for I am a lunatic.  It's been said before, don't act so surprised.  Feeling stuff is hard.  It doesn't necessarily need to be, but by golly when I set my mind to something...

You know what's worse than having feelings?  Talking about them.  Talking about feelings of all variations...je ne sais quoi.  Ugh, especially the *gulp* happy ones.  Why do my communication skills fail me when I require them most?  It's scary out there...worse when you're alone.  I make fun of myself you know.  When I've done or said something perpetually useless, I'll heckle.  It sounds simple, and at first it could go either way.  Then the repetition begins.  Its slight annoyance in the beginning quickly manifests itself as a raging pestilence that insists on permeating every iota of humanity.  I am all emotion at this point.  Why bottle?  Why maintain as though everything be fine, when everything is just that and through gritted teeth no less.  Fear of looking weak.    Stupid.  Needy.  I don't know why yet, but we must need these for some purpose, no?  Some evolutionary throwback to a simpler time?  Being fucked around by every retarded fuckface douchebag that came within radius?  You know, bunch a things.  Wow.  Am I still that bitter?  That caught up in my, not so past.  It felt great to say, so maybe?  Why does admittance of negative things about ourselves hurt so goddamn much?  Who told us these things were held in such revolt but more importantly, why?  Were they told these things as children?  Did they make it up so future generations would remain repressed and loveless?

I want to be real with you, ya know.  It's never gone down that way.  I won't let it.  I doubt one could handle how real I can be.  I request a team of young supplicants to take on what I have to give until i can give no more and every last one of them has fallen at my feet in exhaustive uncertainty.  Though they've failed in breaking me, I would be free at last.  Purged of it all, I would step over their mangled and emaciated carcasses only to greet you and be held within your arms and in your heart.  Without my knaves to sacrifice so graciously their time to me, how will I ever get to a place of tranquility?  I long for silence like people long for drink.  For food.  Equality.  Love.  I'm in love.  It's colder here than anticipated, but sweeter than imaginable.  Why must my evolution be so laborious and inefficient?  I want results now, so I can move on to the next hurdle without demolishing everyone in my path along the way.  It seems no matter how many times nor how often I pose the above question that shall forever go unanswered, will I get an answer that is actionable.  How do I actively change my ways if I understand them?  Where does the action begin and with what?  Perhaps my effort is lacking.  Perhaps I'm just an asshole.  Perhaps I have too much time to sit and dote on nothing while others truly suffer.  Yup...total asshole.