sometimes when i can't handle things i don't leave the house because it affords me a chance to think on everything...

everything that has changed so suddenly

i don't even know what i want anymore...

self
same

close the blinds, close your eyes, listen to the heartbeat count those seconds
let the light in, let the warmth flow, listen to the sounds count the growth

or do it all for
you

Current Mood: contemplative
Current Music: 7/4 (Shorline) - Broken Social Scene

SHADOW-MEMORY

i’m cold and alone
and i rock back and forth with pin needles in my side
forces of shadow-memory that breathe darkness upon me
a simple light beam echoes within those dark clouds i see with eyelids turned under
through the light a beacon of joyous times erupts
as dark tears glisten down the cheeks of youth
because its over as the cripple walks down the stairs of time
towards the immortal pool of the unknown
a black lump in the memories of man
i’m cold and alone
and i sit here with the dragon’s eye
look forward into the future where
people sit huddled in front of the warmth of a shadow-memory
holding onto it forever
cradling it like a newborn child for that is the joy it brings
i’m cold and alone
and the mists move around me in their darkest hours
prostrate I lay
waiting for an outstretched hand
that will never come
a kiss that only lives in those shadow-memories
of mine
i’m cold and alone
shadow-memories
engulf
shadow-me-memory

Current Mood: lonely
Current Music: Criminal - Fiona Apple

HOLY THURSDAY - MASS OF THE LORD'S SUPPER

I think I finally realized I go to church just for the singing
the only time when its perfectly okay
for me to belt out words in an uneven harmony
because I’m just participating
and not looking like a lunatic
like I do in my car


that I don’t go for God, or Christ, or the Holy Spirit
trinity denied
might I go for them
or can’t I pray at home?

“To learn the mystery of sacrificial love, O God,
we come to the supper hosted by your Son,
to the table where the sinless One
delights to eat and drink with sinners.”

the plumes of incense
surrounding both holy men and child abusers
deacons there for prestige only
and the women that run the church in the background
all with various nicknames thanks to my mother, which have stuck
have you heard? “K.R.S. yelled at Bebe and now she’s throwing a fit”
“Jonesey has done it again, now there are only five lectors instead of seven”
the cross
I used to carry when I was draped in white
every Sunday because my parents made me and
it really helped church not be boring anymore
even if the older priests smelled like moth balls
and too much vodka from the flask under the fake façade of faithfulness
the liturgy of the eucharist
spread out in multiple columns
in a “worship aid” for both groups
white suburbia and Hispanic working class
all under one roof
proclaiming the same devotion
the sanctus:
“Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord;
Dios del Universo.
Heaven and Earth are filled
with your glory:
Hosanna en el cielo. Blessed is he who comes
in the name of the Lord;
Hosanna en el Cielo.”
the wafers raised
which are real bread right now because it’s a “special time”
and it takes longer to break the bread into the individual pieces
added poignancy or just a longer bow
the memorial acclamation:
“Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ will come again”
the wine now raised
the worst wine ever tasted
because it still hasn’t aged properly
but its cheap and of course Christ would want the cheapest stuff possible
(cheap wine helps a poor parish thrive in a neighborhood of
Hummer driving woman and Ferrari driving men)
the doxology:
“Amen”
the washing of the feet
an extra part of the celebration
to show our faith
but Dad never comes
even though it is the Mandatum
“Mandatum, the Latin word for commandment, is used for this reenactment of the servant-hood of Jesus. Obedient to His command and example, we wash the feet of our fellow disciples. We believe that Jesus, who is present among us, commands us to imitate this profound act of humility.”
even though it does leave your foot smelling like lavender
and the water was actually warm for once

do I really need the building
can’t I speak with God directly?
that whatever race, creed, or language
(the mass was bilingual)
we can speak directly and thus I don’t need the building
which is just a gym after all

Current Mood: cheerful
Current Music: Better - Regina Spektor

BYRON, CA

Sitting on the edge of orchards
Cutting down for progress and bypass
Looking at the expanse before you
Think

Of summer’s languorous pulse
Where the heat rises visibly
And even green water invites a splash
And the laugh of children echoes chirping
Where we are eating apples from trees and green tomatoes
As corn stalks stand over heads cooling the day

Of spring’s sharp reality
When the days are still cold but the rain enticing
When we could cover the walls and ceilings and floors
In blankets and pillows and wear padded purple jackets
To keep ourselves warm while
Rocking to the lullaby of grasshoppers

But the sun has set and reminded me of days when
At night I’d climb down with prickling fingers
From my memories simpler and look out at the expanse
And see what man has done to nature

See the high towers encroaching
Two story boxes all placed in a line
With convenience shopping a mile behind
Complete with groceries and cops watching

I’d see the developing road maps
Interlaying city upon city
A progress to make one dizzy
A need to sit down and say perhaps

If I were a king I would breathe
Boring dirt trails and
Dance in the fields where old graveyards lay
Showing the simpler times I yearn

For the desire to zig zag
Between peach groves and vineyards
To run and run until all the flowers fell out
And were rearranged the next spring

Current Mood: cheerful
Current Music: Summer in the City - Regina Spektor

SORROW'S SEA

I remember a time when
teardrops melted into moonbeams
and we all could smile under the same
sun with the blue jays twittering by

but now that’s all gone
cold frost settles in on my windowsill
as I see you walking with him
talking with him
laughing with him

and I sit here looking out my window
wondering when my teardrops will melt
because this salt sea is too much to contain
this salt sea is all there is
and we’re without lifeboats

I know I’m not the only one this hurt
that there is another sea connected to mine
where teardrops fall because of false knowledge
a betrayal from a specter’s kiss

yet I also see that my teardrops cross farther space
and plunge to greater depths
breathing up new sea monsters who jump
over the caps of waves, green eyed monsters
dancing in the salty waters

and I sit here looking out my window
wondering when my teardrops will dry up
because this salt sea is too much to contain
this salt sea is all there is
and I need a new sunny day

there’s a ship in the distance
waving a flag of new found freedom
where chords of jubilee can be heard
and I just keeping thinking it’s because
they got what they wanted while
walking all over me and my sorrow

beyond that there even is a flag
on a new found island because the other
has begun to cope and his teardrops
have stopped, receding the sea waters
as a dove with that damn olive branch flutters by

and I sit here looking out my window
wondering when my teardrops will recede
because this salt sea is too much to contain
this salt sea is all there is
and I need that day when I can relax upon dry land again

and I sit here looking out my window
wondering when my teardrops will stop
because this salt sea is too much to contain
and this sorrow just clings on with the monsters
dancing around in the water I’ve created because
this salt sea is all there is for me
and I need that day when my footing can be secure again
upon that dry land

Current Mood: contemplative
Current Music: Straw Dog - Something Corporate

THE MELODY OF INCOMPATIBILITY

Fallen snow on cedars
sounds like a nice poetic beginning
that is never mine
instead my feelings jumping farther than even the most intense
could imagine for the beginning
a life with you who I’ve only known for not even past sunrise

leave me alone to myself and the fallen will rise again
quicker than Jesus even
three days can only take three minutes
in my cloud filled synapse firing brain

where white petals fall around that mystic body
that boy who will completely understand me
and let me be me while I let him be him
all to the beautiful melody of some piano laden chorus
of an angel who’s song is actually depressing
but the melody moves us to tears
because we are on the same reverb and time
we both flow in 4/4 or 3/4 or cut time
whatever it is that Fate has deemed for us

leave me alone though and the fallen will rise again
the demons who come looking in all the wrong places
will be mystically transformed
before the altar place of imagination
where the Lord is my mind
and the Son is my heart
they’ll play together
forcing the demons to play dress up
like a four year old little girl
they’ll sing hymns to lure me in
make me think the melody is a beautiful a cappella croon
when in reality it is the screeching of incompatibility
yet the priest will perform the ceremony quite well
to fog up my inner vision
and allow the demons deep into the Son’s clutches
where emotions flow wild and falling falling falling

I will cry later when I’m alone being comforted by
the lonely voices of tori, imogen, regina
letting the sorrow fill me completely
because once again the fallen rose to my personal savior
the boy of my imagination which I yearn for with all my being
and try and make reality equal
when it probably never will

and I will sit listening to the lonely voice sing of loves lost
the melody that seems set up for me
from all eternity

Current Mood: gloomy
Current Music: silence

ON STATE STREET

"little wet tears on my baby’s shoulder"
reflect the moonlight off the buildings
on State St. where we first watched the sun go down together
we laughed then, now we cry
a eulogy of smog filled, smoke filled sorrows

down on State St. where the corner stores used to blossom
like tulips in Holland they used to bloom
Mr. Turnip’s, Mr. Smith’s, Ms. Daversham’s
they all use to sell those cigarettes too
the ones we puffed away on, for cheap
and things seemed to flow down here
where the money was always low

but now all we have are dead poplar trees
in our backyards on State St.
ladies light cigarettes, puff away, no regrets
men come home aggravated, puff away, slump down lower
hard winters mean hard springs mean hard summers
and the moonlight is the only reflection
of the old sunsets we watched on State St.
now we’re just too tired to watch them anymore
purple and pink have become charcoal and ebony

here on State St. all the flowers have wilted
like tulips in the summer heat
nothing blooms now but the shots fired
at the hours of gloomy shadow
when we dare not cross the street to the last remaining store
Ms. Daversham’s old habit
now run by a man colder than the weather
who stares as we buy our Marlboro’s
puff away, no regrets
"little wet tears on my baby’s shoulder"

~Based off the melody as well as lyrics of “Lady” by Regina Spektor on her album: "Begin to Hope"~

Current Mood: artistic
Current Music: Agnus Dei - Rufus Wainwright

Intoxicated by a piano chord progression depression
Because your ship is still in my heart’s harbor
The violin weeps off to my right slight
Each string like the ropes that have stayed subconsciously tied
The moan of an ancient singer lingers
An elegy to a rhyme of the dead
Connects me through the countless walls I had placed
To keep this teardrop away
Re-inflamed by the heartbeat of the drum of time’s crime
They wash over me like winter’s rain
Flood my senses with every emotional darkness
I cannot even count them all
But I feel like a falling star must feel
Hopeless to the fate it's been given
I am hopeless as the final piano riff rings stings

Current Mood: contemplative
Current Music: Apres Moi - Regina Spektor

SILENT NIGHT

breathe in the insolence of this solitude
this harbinger of negativity and doubt
where a small clank becomes a cacophony of danger
and the shadows suppress a reality found with sound
where a simple idea gets tossed and turned
through the washing machine of ideas
but instead of becoming clean
gets tarnished with disdain, depression, disgust
where the solidarity breeds a complexity
not found in the singularity we’re accustomed to
but the singularity of silence
where human warmth cannot intrude except for with
a shadow’s kiss
this complexity forming a growing weight
that none of us can carry
and forces us to live in this solitude
a solitude that leads to demon curses
coming from human lips

Current Mood: contemplative
Current Music: Transatlanticism - Death Cab for Cutie

SHE SITS AT SUNSET

She sits down on the simple metal
fabricated by mechanic hands and minds
that is in front of the stone circle
where no burial is to occur
except for the death of a full pocket book

A black silhouette glides to her side
a faint whisper wafts to her ear
and a small sheet of shiny paper is placed in front of her
along with simple liquid crystal shining in slowly fading sunlight

She returns the whisper and the paper
and the silhouette returns to his hovel
where the air is not crisp like the forest morn
but filled with the pungent odors of fabrication

The sun hides behind the distant mountain
yellow, orange, pink still pierce the sky
and she still drinks from the glistening crystal
snacking on post production pastries

A leaflet wafts in with the night twinkle
of twilight and singing cicadas
and there is a transaction of cold hard greenery
that never saw the hand of nature

With a swoop of blue material
shimmering in the moonlight
she stands turns and clicks down the ancient pavement
to a simple patch of tan and green
where women kiss the past
and make love to the future

Current Mood: calm
Current Music: Lady - Regina Spektor