Who I really am.

01/16/08

How many years have to pass,
and how many have already?
Are you listening or are you asking me?
The truth is, I only have this moment,
when I wrote up a storm for a life,
with fancy words for a living,
and delicate descriptions of the damned.
After everything is said and done,
can you see who I really am?

They say silence is golden,
but not when you already touched me.
Suddenly I am not the know it all.
Sooner or later you just have to realize,
I stood at the brink of existence,
on the fine line of a heartbeat,
or a heart bleeding.
When it felt like my decision,
I fell into you,
otherwise I would have never opened these eyes again,
otherwise I wouldn’t be who I am.

So I’m out here in these streets,
laughed at by the crowds,
mocked for the time frames I understand,
and I’d like to beat their accusations to a pulp,
but that’s not going to change their opinions.
So I show them my scars,
and suddenly everyone gets serious,
and that’s exactly who I am,
broken without your hands,
barely breathing when you’re not holding me.

How long has it been?
I’m not even sure anymore,
but I can tell you what it feels like,
and that’s much too long.
Over two years, no lips, no fingertips,
no one touching me, no one fixing my hair,
no one pulling on my pockets.
I shuffle these feet with a shadow holding my hand,
and people look at me like I’m crazy,
but they’ll never know why I am alive.
I seen you forever,
so it’s like you’ve always been with me.
After everything is said and done,
that’s why you have someone who will wait out time.
Can you see who I really am?

 

The Safety of a Miracle

01/02/08

I am so tired of disappearing.
I am so tired of fading away.
Tragedies, traumas, memories,
the good times, the bad times,
all of it together make such a dynamic beautiful life,
both vulnerable and delicate, resilient and enduring.
But, to come home the way I do,
it is a pain that becomes indescribable.
As much as I have fought to represent these things,
trying to be so brave with what is dealt to me,
and supportive to those I care for,
it is a pain overemphasized by isolation,
with such little hope to spare,
so that a ray of light becomes so precise,
it burns a hole in my heart.

How bittersweet that my tongue is unlimited,
but my hands are so tied.
Yet, even this tongue has come at the worst price.
And I hold dear all those who share these tortures,
for I seen with my own eyes how impossible it was to withstand it,
for I seen so many crumble, so many fade and disappear.
And I don’t want to fade and disappear,
but to sit here before you and tread my reality,
is only possible by containing great devastation.

Yes it is true, I am riddle with scars.
Sometimes I truly feel it is all intentional,
and I truly am glad if it is me more than anyone else.
Because of the bloodline,
because of my birthright,
I have accepted the responsibility of being the voice for such horrors,
the voice for such pain and hurt.
How could I wish this all away,
knowing it never goes away and would only crush someone else?
So I try to be brave.
I wear it all like a curse of armor,
one that does not protect but weighs me down,
one that buries me a little more with every breath.
But I do not want to fade away and disappear.
Yet, who in their right mind would hold me?
Who would dare comfort such a spiral of no control,
of no say or choice over life’s requests,
to live the nightmares everyone else manages to balance,
to speak a language that can only burn the mouth?
For almost all those in my shoes are crushed and paralyzed,
and they have every right to be.
It is not fair for life to be so one-sided as it sometimes is,
and for those that are on this one-side,
it does not appear to be sometimes but all the time.
Yes, that someone would be a miracle to me.

So here I sit in a silence as deadly as the echoes of misfortune,
echoes that are not the past but the future,
and they are not consequences of anything,
they are the very nature of me.
When can I come home and not be so alone?
When can I be so sure?
When can I just stop thinking all together,
and just collapse in an eternal embrace,
in the safety of a miracle?
I don’t want to fade away and disappear.
I need the safety of a miracle,
and I know I can be a miracle too.

Holiday Infections

12/24/07

I know some things are hard to believe,
and some things are almost better off as the nature we assume for them.
This is a reality of butterflies and snowballs,
our common sense in combination with our trust,
and faith as the loaded gun,
but there is so much to believe or disbelieve,
so we fire blanks,
even though at point blank range it still hurts.
It’s more our ego than a flesh wound.
It’s more ringing in our ears than it is a gapping hole.
You got that, my friend?
Every one of us thinks a version of these things,
but only an idiot turns it into a profession.
I make this claim to distinguish between an artist and the damned,
just like you thought you could imitate life.
It was good as a work of fiction until someone is bleeding or dies.
Now do you tell stories or do they tell on you?
If only I had cash for every time someone told me they knew the truth.
Two out of a lot of people would swear on the things they saw,
the rest of us are just majority rule,
something a textbook could keep reprinting.
You would think the revisions were full of added content,
but sometimes you say so much more by omission.
Remember one minus everything,
or was that everything without one?
It didn’t really leave you in stitches,
but right away you were thinking how to shoot it down.
I heard that you should just live your life and keep digging.
If you could smile then you were already rich,
so where is your capital now?
They built a highway and obstructed your point of view.
How much did we trust ourselves just because we had no choice,
even if we knew we would do us wrong?
Remember all those versions of the truth?
Well maybe a genius was just someone with a lot of excuses and a following who believed everything they said.

I know some things get real vague,
and sometimes it has nothing to do with anything,
except you have to deal with it,
or did you think your choices were made in a vacuum?
Yet, it wasn’t uncommon to speak to a crowd and get a better response from a wall.
You were still hoping you never left an impression on anyone,
until you found out the whole world was listening.
How else does everyone know your business?
But what kind of freak show put us on center stage?
I thought all Angels had a game plan,
then again, nothing gets done without producers.
Could camcorders be successful in Hollywood?
Probably not any more than chemicals protect nature.
God told man: “I should be in your heart but one day I will only be in your head.”,
and everyone knows what we do with figments of our imagination.
Go ahead, try and tell the devil its just a figure of speech.
Every symbol was a poison grape,
and snakes aren’t the only creatures that will offer you fruit,
just like Adam knew Eve wasn’t a virgin.
They made their bed so many times that it was obvious.
She must have saw what was under his leaf and got pissed off.
I mean, what could she tell God, there was no such thing as an enlarger back then,
and Enzyte was still thousands of years away.
Why else did the river run red, when they never killed an animal in their whole life?
And suddenly Eve was popping out children,
while the snake protested he had no arms and legs so how could it be him.
Sure Eve gave Adam the apple,
but only after Adam showed it to her.
They must have thought God was dumb.
That’s like buying a circular saw for your wife and she buys you an evening gown.

I know some things should be black and white,
and sometimes blacks and whites get along.
It sounds like a crazy idea,
but you’d be surprised how scared people are about blending the species.
Most racist people just don’t believe we all bleed the same,
the only problem is they’d sooner cut someone else rather than themselves.
Then again, some people just want to be left alone,
and that seems harmless enough,
until they go a bit stir crazy and write a book called Mein Kampf.
Of course not everyone goes for the gusto,
some people just do a lot of coke in the name of science and blame it on their mother,
or two mothers or two fathers.
By the way, I personally researched this myself, and he was right.
I’ll let you decide which one.
Hey, nice try, but never underestimate big business.
Capitalism trumps everyone, yet again,
or was that in God we trust?
That’s because the dollar is green even though the wallet is made out of flesh,
and everyone knows animals don’t count,
otherwise God would forgive their sins rather than ours.
Besides, Jesus herded sheep but died on the cross for us,
so why did he call the people his flock?
And green is suppose to simulate prosperity,
so why is it always covered in blood, I mean red.
Don’t get mad at me, I’m neutral in all of this,
just like the Swiss bank was in World War II,
and just because I don’t have weapons doesn’t mean I won’t shoot.
I had best friends who were Jewish but I wasn’t allowed to eat at their table during the holidays,
and I had best friends who were black but I didn’t marry any of them.
You see, your secrets are safe with me,
but that’s because I only see things as friend or foe.
If you think I’m public enemy number one, you should hear what they say about you.
My life was relatively easy, everyone was trying to kill me.
Now what’s your excuse, I’m sure it’s a good one.

Tears that soak a callous heart.

12/10/07

Saw my kid the other day,
but it was really too difficult to pretend,
like rubbing my eyes to remove the truth.
If it’s a sin, who should confess?
If I was born in the same way, how come I survived?
Sometimes it just doesn’t make sense,
actually, it makes no sense,
but I had a life to live so I tried to move.
What the hell does he want with me?
I’ve been a runner forever, how could I change?
So I turned my face and I fucking cried,
yeah, big bad chris wept like rain that fell on scars,
like blood I tried to put back in holes.
If it’s a sin, where should I begin?
Sometimes I just don’t know,
actually, I still don’t know.
Maybe I need a secret weapon,
a way to punish me with gentle pain,
give me enough time to find the Sun and the Moon.
It sure isn’t easy in these streets.
If it’s a sin, why does he follow me?
I thought I would be the one to walk away,
instead I held out my hand,
but my arms flailed in the wind.
As I blinked twice, nothing was there.
I suppose I never really knew what he looked like.
How’s that for second guesses?
and then there were chills I could not shake.
Sometimes it’s like he’s living his life through mine,
actually, it’s his life not mine.
And I know the spirits have cared for me,
more than I could ever ask for,
it’s not just the stars and things.
The spirits found me a heart that I could love,
and it scares me to death.
I don’t want to hurt anymore.
I don’t want to die.
Can he really see me?
I hope you could see me too.
I’m not going to hide these tears.
I’m not going to fade anymore

Zero or One

12/06/07

If everyone gets what they want, then I’m stuck with hams and hens.
If everyone is successful, then I’m molested.
If it’s a festival, it’s a funeral.
If it’s a parade, it’s a lineup.
I duck when I should jump.
I’m done before I’m gone.
Everyone can get their hands on a gun,
something like a gun,
or something bigger and better than a gun.
If it’s a limo, it’s a bus.
If it’s for free, it’s plus tax.
If it’s from them, it’s from us.
It all depends on a Visa or MasterCard and your special assigned color.
It all depends on who got the virus, and who controls the virus,
and can the virus be controlled?
in that very actual order,
because,
first, before we answer any of the last questions,
we need to know who has the virus,
who is infected?
because,
if we can’t control the actual virus,
we will at least have its victims and most likely it inside.

Sure we can contain the beast,
but does it have to benefit everyone so perfectly?
If it’s a car, it’s a cage.
If it’s mail, it’s bills.
If it’s a phone call, someone died.
If you’re happy to see me, you’re a pervert.
If you’re happy to see me, then you want something.
If you happen to see me, then it’s a mistake.
If I’m early, then the appointment was yesterday.
Everyone can get their claws on a car.
Everyone knows someone who knows someone who could swing by in a car and sell you guns.
Everyone can get something just like a gun,
and everyone gets hurt just as if it was a gun,
and everyone can dress up like they have a gun.

I get fired, I fire.
I get dumped, I fire.
Anything bad happens to me in any kind of way, and I fire.
I win a cup of coffee, a danish, a car wax.
I win coupons, a coup, a Cadillac.
I win a beer, a ride. I get friends.
I get gloves, shoes, hats, scarves,
promos, defects, mis-orders.
If it’s a gift, it’s a sale.
If it’s a sale, it’s a favor.
If it’s a favor, it’s a job.
Everyone has a job to do.
Some people have jobs, some people do jobs.
Some people go to their jobs.
Some people do jobs quietly.
Everyone runs from a gun, unless they have a gun,
then they run with a gun.
Everyone can get a gun if they want a gun

94 pictures

12/05/07

After all, it was their life, not mine,
and where ever this was going, did you really want to know what I went through?
Yes, I was no better,
stronger than anyone, but for such a short distance,
whatever I tried to touch,
whatever felt like I couldn’t,
anything to avoid the label of the truth,
as if I knew the difference.
It’s the same thing in my mind,
life bigger than the chances I once took,
not that I wouldn’t throw myself out there,
but who was really paying attention?
The things I might command are too much to believe,
and isn’t that the way reality condemns me,
until it all falls under something impossible?
How would I be saved?
because it comes down to that in an instant,
the way I roamed aimless,
the way I stood still but shook.
By now it was freezing over here,
I’m holding on by the skin of my teeth,
the rest is written all over my face.
I’m always forgetting what it feels like to smile,
this is isolation no one should put themselves through.
Nothing about me can be called functional,
nothing even close to reason.
After I finish writing this I won’t be able to move.
If I was outside I would freeze to death,
so I am a prisoner of the weather,
or is it the season?
or is it everything everyone else does?

Here in New York, a city with enough room for a view,
the dreams are up and down the street.
It is so simple when it is straight forward.
Maybe there is no other option,
maybe they can’t afford to waste time,
and that is very sane,
because the consequences are worse any other way,
but all I have to do is go to work and come home from work,
it’s enough to go undetected forever,
just a vague image people see,
but never knowing the things I had at my fingertips.
Only a madman and his head,
crazy for a hunger of life,
to be bigger than this living,
to be swept away and lit on fire,
as I predicted things could be,
which makes it more painful when I fade.
Is there really any shelter for me?
I want to cut myself up something terrible.

 

Apocalypse 13 : 1

12/01/07

The street was a whore and people pimp themselves,
they were running from terror but they’re living in hell,
and this aint a game so why you cutting with spades?
I don’t care for the cards, I can still read your face,
and you gotta admit, even though the years passed,
I’m feeding off the city while you’re getting fat?
I must be an idiot cause I took it to heart,
when you said life was shit I believed in the blood.
Of course I’m calculated, I’m a fucking machine,
I aint got no love, I don’t believe in anything.
I done seen to many friends turn into liars,
you can play with your words but it don’t make you a fighter,
and you’re good with your mouth but you bite your fists,
you forgot how it works, it’s been years since you used it,
but that’s ok cause I’ve been cleansing the streets,
it’s my own genocide, I never forget beef.
Since I mastered my weapons aint a damn thing changed,
all I got is hatred, violence is the only way.
You’re a smart man so you should think about it,
that’s three hundred and sixty five days of violence,
now multiply that for over a decade,
I ain’t met a man who got that much hate.
So you can blame me and you could point your fingers,
I’m only doing what I learned from living with sinners.
I don’t look for redemption, I don’t want your forgiveness,
you should know by now it’s just part of the business.
Go ahead and live well and pretend you matured,
I don’t know what you’re thinking but I’m living in war.
I’ll patronize your games and I’ll even play dumb,
but I suck as a friend unless I’m burying someone.
Some life huh? We’re like night and day,
you’ve been stalling the end but I just can’t wait.
While you’re playing with fire I’ve been putting out flames,
you can say you’re an angel but you aint got wings.
At least I’m honest when I spit in your face,
I give you your money’s worth, never short changed.
I can’t help myself, I got problems for life,
and I’m not going to hide it, I enjoy fights,
when it comes to violence I keep it a secret,
until the last minute when no one expects it,
that’s why the whole world is watching us,
all they want is a taste of the blood and guts.
Who the hell am I to deny or disagree?
but the things you said, I can never repeat,
and if I had a choice it wouldn’t be different,
if I could promise you the world, I still wouldn’t.
Knowing what I know now, how could I?
when the two of us changed, it’s was a bad sign,
and my face is not me, it’s someone else,
so now I can hardly recognize myself.
But I listen close to every word you said,
and I fed the hate and studied the bitterness,
I even made a career out of the hole,
dragged myself to the surface, played the role.
For what? cause it was all for nothing,
and I’m still breathing but it sounds disgusting,
and I’m still bleeding but it’s so well hidden,
no one can see the scars until I’m forgiven.

 

Apocalypse 12:13

11/27/07

Apocalypse 12:13

These were no miracle of words,
and I’m not saying you ever believed that,
nor anything else.
In fact, between us, there was no boundary.
Hypothetically, we never really knew who we were, unless it came to decay.
You didn’t have to believe that either,
but this time I was not asking.
There was no need to read my mind, not again.
We were firm with time as a function of movement,
and what was movement without mass?
The atomic number that signifies your life,
is it that unsatisfied,
and how in the world would you fight it?
Face it, we were surrounded.
If we were criminals, we would be busted for murder.
If you don’t think so, then I am telling you right now.
Your thoughts run through me constantly,
even things you can not contemplate,
leaving me to make up for everything thrown away.
These were no miracle of words,
just the horror of reality and the light,
even when there is no sun for days on end.
Since when did that ever stop us from taking it for granted?
For assumption seemed to be a specialty of survival.
You do what you have to and I don’t;
it doesn’t make me a martyr,
nor does it make me a genius or idiot.
You see ghosts and I see consequences,
in a world that will lend itself to revenge,
anything that is loyal to the laws of nature;
if it exists, then you bet it will be used against us,
now is that natural or man-made?
But you don’t have to answer me,
not like you ever have before.
Yes, it is so easy to toss your terms without paying the real price.
If it is reality you are trying to buckle,
you need only read on,
but consider yourself warned.
These were no miracle of words,
just as I have strayed from consciousness,
not that which we think we control,
but everything involuntary,
that which makes no sense to describe.
Surely this must all be in my head.
I say Angel; you say devil.
I say heart; you say tongue,
and in the end, what is the real difference?
when it all comes down to the same thing,
a life consumed by slow decay.
So you found a way to speed it up;
do you know what that means to me?
Make no mistake my friends, I am fully expecting to live forever,
and I have stopped at nothing to spread my paralysis throughout this world,
using every magnetic attraction of life,
even that which repels itself,
even that which has no charge at all.
For I have little obligation and even less responsibility;
almost every waking moment is spent in and out of infinity.
It is time to come clean and admit to yourself:
I am your physicist more than anyone else;
I am your best bet.
For my subjects know no limitation.
My terms are Heaven and hell just as much as mass and acceleration.
My laboratory is your cause and effect chain.
These were no miracle of words.
I stood on the edge of a force no better than murder,
pinning myself to a suffocated state,
watching the life of me turn black and blue, and then gray,
for a taste of what the light at the end of the tunnel was,
but death would not be cheated under any circumstance.
You either cross the line or you don’t;
anything less was not death at all, not even close.
If it’s feelings you want, then go cry on someone’s shoulder.
I was a fucking professional, god damn it.
How could I deal with hypothetical conditions?
I would be no better than a scientific politician.
But still, if I could not separate the body from the mind,
I could only believe I was lacking the necessary skills,
because I certainly had all the tools.
So, how then could I turn emotion against myself?
There had to be a trap I could fall into,
something that would hold me accountable for these thoughts,
until I didn’t think anymore and just acted.
With reflex and instinct, I beat the shit out of myself,
from verbal to physical,
and it worked.
I brought my reality to its knees.
I altered the chemical balances that doctors have slaved to recognize,
firing on gene codes impossible to map without some part of it in a state of inaccuracy.
These were no miracle of words,
only one man nurturing a living hell,
and this was no coincidence of a target;
the bullseye was confident as a mark.
Who else was stupid enough to rise to the occasion?
Maybe the answer already spoke for me.
You would have to travel back in time, when this final cut took its greatest turn.
By the prime of its handiwork, I was unrecognizable,
having my dreams tortured to death so that there would be no chance for new ones,
and my relationships weren’t just destroyed, they were turned against me.
Sure, it didn’t look like anything more than the usual way tragedies happen,
except, every mother fucking night I had to listen to some god damn voice.
I ran through every possible reason,
tried every possible explanation,
but it wasn’t that simple.
I could not connect it to God or the devil.
This was pure physiological.
This was hands-off spiritually.
There was no soul-searching to cleanse the problem,
and I was propelled into a nightmare of homeostasis,
a balance I painfully built from scratch,
after holding the blade to my wrist daily.
Behind everyone’s back I would sit in the bathtub, fully clothed, no water running,
as I listened to footsteps like elephants,
and distant conversations like children screaming.
The echo was blood on the walls.
I remember trying so desperately to clean it off,
but when I looked at the towel there was nothing there.
Eventually someone would wrestle with the locked door,
demanding I answer them.
I felt pressured to rush my choice, and I didn’t want to go out like that;
I desperately needed to do this right.
So, with my tail between my legs and the equipment safely hidden away, I crawled back to the surface,
where I eventually relearned to recognize my greatest suicide:
the slow decay.
What could be more painful than staring at the faces of my failures?
Everything I ate was like a dead fetus, in some shape or form.
Every phone call was from a ghost.
These were no miracle of words,
and since that day, I have not managed to escape.
In fact, you can say things only got worse.
If it wasn’t for the utter maniac that I am, I would not even be here right now,
but as a child I learned all my lessons well.
From molestation to self-mutilation,
they were all cousins that way,
and we were all lovers that way.
That’s why it doesn’t mean much to slash someone’s throat;
if I consider you to not be on my side,
and if any part of me was considered your enemy.
Yes, yours truly stood shaking and bleeding, recording every ounce of the punishment,
material I never leave alone,
material I always carry with me.
The only way something can happen to this master work is if something happens to me,
and it’s not easy to get me because I don’t do normal things,
and I am armed to the teeth,
weapons to fight off humans as well as Angels and devils.
The rest I have hidden, scattered in secret locations throughout New York,
and maybe even out of state.
That’s how pathetic I am,
or maybe that’s how fearful I am of the other side,
for the little protection I have by striking my deals with Heaven and hell,
or whatever the fuck you want to call it.
The infinity of things really doesn’t give a shit what we think,
and the select few of us are its pathetic vessels.
Now this brings us back to this day,
of course minus a lot of detail I can not say, otherwise I will waste tax payer’s money.
Forget bringing me to court or anyone else responsible for this state.
If there was any solid evidence, I wouldn’t have a problem,
at least then I would know exactly what happened.
Like I said:
these were no miracle of words,
and there could not be a lunatic more sane than your trusted friend right here before you,
he who does not ask for your damn opinion.
I am telling you I am your represented voice.
Don’t you dare tempt me for some petty proof.
Things don’t work like that and you know it;
that’s hogwash stuff of Luke and Judas,
just like I don’t need to know how many times you seen someone’s spirit crushed or their head kicked in.
We all get the concept of blood,
so we should also know that there are no such thing as accidents;
it’s just that some things are directly related to us and others are more like a butterfly effect.
Now your loyalty should be with me.
I have the math for such a dark and such a light,
while we play games with the laws of physics and religion.
There was no need to read my mind, not again.
We were already form with time as a function of movement,
and what was movement without identity?
Who else would be sadistic enough to strip it down?
Here is your dialect for this nature.
Remember me when it comes time to support me,
when you find me crippled and paraded,
war-torn from fickle treaties that expired.
Where are your magical items now?
Would you immediately retire, call it quits?
Would you hide behind other illusions of protection,
or will you come unto me and face what has long since begun?
I am your general, some of you just don’t know it yet,
but when you retreat,
there will be no side to suck up to and plead your case.
In every nook and cranny you will find a substance that devotes its life to my swords.
This is no dreamed up world,
and these were no miracle of words.
Do you understand now, my child?
Do you know now what is a true vampire,
what is a true saint and sinner?
Do you know now what it means to believe in God?
Do you see that faith is not blind at all?
Ask yourself once more: Who the hell am I who speaks to you this way?
and fear not your answers.
You will not find someone on the off-days playing games or taking in a movie,
or buying clothes or socializing.
You will not find someone grocery shopping, washing dishes, or raising kids,
and I am not saying there is anything wrong with that, my friends.
Yes, how wonderfully brave and strong you are,
otherwise, you would not even be here to read this.
How noble of you to juggle it all.
I am proud,
but all of that is over for me now.
Yet, this is no hasty decision or choice on my part.
To share your ambitions so close would spell torture and certain death for any of it that would share mine,
nor could I subject anyone to such suicide.
You would have to take my back or leave me to face it all on my own.
Still, fear not your answers.
For even as you read this post,
take pride that at the very moment I am hunched over soaked paper,
writing at the speed of light and sound,
clutching magic to ward off inevitable intervention,
the interference that consumes us and our hard fought balances,
or I am on the hunt, to keep our eye on the opposition.
Without me, your children would be eaten already,
and your husbands and wives would have cheated or been raped,
and your homes and apartments marked with the poison of some thing’s sacrificial blood.
And if this is already the case for you, then it was too late and I am so very sorry.
I do everything I can; I am so very sorry.
Then it is up to you to make your peace with the spirits.
You mention my name and they will know.
You think of me and you will have your allies;
it is not impossible for them to cross over safely.
They can materialize; they can come to your side.
These are no miracle of words.
This is the writing on the wall;
here are the ruins from which they came from,
my mouth to yours.

Chris

 

Some kind of :

11/25/07

Some kind of movement of idea and muscle,
could be all in my head,
best wishes at best,
fortunate or reminiscent by the highway.
My own vehicle swallowed by time,
really didn’t matter when,
Heaven and hell is the same thing.
I know it sounds preposterous but it’s that time of year.
Hobbling through the backyards,
chased by the incentive to hide,
the reinforcement of dogs that won’t stay,
just another animal that bites,
as if they don’t know how I taste,
but I have no surprises.
I put my life on ice,
to freeze a spiral out of control.
This is spinning in infinity,
not the endless chances to right the ship,
just everything that already sunk,
and how shallow these waters have become.
I can see everything float,
because there isn’t a bottom to land on.

Some kind of echo off the moon,
where the sun once caused its diversions.
Guess it was enough to stall this night,
but fate’s mission is relentless.
You know how it goes:
where there’s a will, there’s a way,
and there’s plenty of room to disappear.
Everyone is doing their thing;
I can see them from their holiday windows.
Santa is going to have a good time,
too much cookies and wine to worry about outside.
So I kept crawling without recognition,
consider it my favor for peace,
keeping my memories to myself.
There was no yuletide in these words.
There was no snow, just smoke and mirrors.
My presents ran out of gas miles ago,
that’s a distance I could never get back,
something like molasses for the speed of light.
Whatever passes me by didn’t even stop to ask why;
there’s too much twisting in fear.
I could be anyone out here,
but mostly someone they’d rather forget.
There goes another tail-light and license plate,
but I have an alibi,
still, it doesn’t change anything on these streets.
Their carols aren’t for me.

Some kind of midnight dance of shadows,
maybe the remains of a similar soul,
not that I could communicate enough.
If it had eyes, we would glance over each other.
No need to exchange war stories,
it was just a work in progress.
I had to find an anchor for this life,
otherwise I would just wander away,
so the first bar I found I floated in.
I really didn’t remember; it was more like instinct.
My excuse was I died.
One drink stood at my table;
it belonged there more than I did,
so I took a sip and shook violently.
I was embarrassed and old,
something like a thousand years of scars and burns,
yet, I managed to focus on other people’s conversations.
I found myself rooting for them to score,
taking bets on who would get who’s phone number,
and who would wake up the next day and regret everything.
After that got tired, I tried to close my eyes,
but the flashing lights were on my mind;
it was just like an ambulance ride,
except I went to jail instead of the hospital.
No, none of this was working.
I left the drink and ran out, half full or half empty,
gave the barmaid a huge tip,
the same amount I would have spent on drinks.
This was usually the time for fights.
Sure enough, there were people arguing in the parking lot.
I looked up to the stars to show me the way,
just the usual ultimatums and promises:
if they would let me pass, I swear there would be no blood.
Somehow I left that place in the dusk, my knives still clean,
but the night was young;
there was plenty of time to stab myself.
I could dig around to find out what I believe,
or I could listen to other people’s broken dreams.
It was freezing cold; I wouldn’t feel either choice.

Some kind of cigarette that lasted for hours,
maybe I lit one after the other,
maybe time stops.
My ass was frozen; my toes were numb.
This wasn’t going to work. This was another tired scene;
I played it out for years, back then.
Wasn’t it time that I repent?
Whatever judges should read my mind.
Let’s get this over with and call it a night;
if I’m not dying then get the hell out of the way.
I’m not afraid of love, but where the hell was it?
If I ever needed to be rescued, now was as good a time as any.
My stomach was so empty I could taste the words.
We would be identical.
We would own this endless road.
Between the two of us, we would have the perfect hole.
Back at my place,
I took a straight line, hoping I was followed,
making it easy to be spotted, but no sign,
just the same dogs that no longer bothered to give chase.
It was definitely that time of year.
The past was at my window with the usual sob story,
still looking to be friends,
anything for me to entertain that nightmare,
but I didn’t take the bait.
I already lost half my life,
and the other half is somewhere on the street.
So here I am, fainting and fading in the living room,
with only the light of advertisements and candles.
I put a blanket over myself like it was a casket,
and I imagined what the eulogy would sound like.
At least it was an excuse for my friends to get together;
they would go to the diner and talk about how I used to be great.
But there is no end for this beast,
and I feel there is nothing left that could die.
Even this breath was unrecognized.
I am here;
she would have to kick in my door.
I was ready for surgery.
I’ve been such a good patient.

Homemade lighter fluid.

11/21/07

Prison for the word,
that’s me over there.
You’d think one of us would learn.
Yeah, always a song and dance,
unofficial march of saints and sinners.
Listen to the crooked bones of the innocent,
only because of their wishes and dreams,
but the future isn’t any better.
What unfolds is as good as hell,
the whore under lock and key,
in the execution of access to this world,
like it’s been hanging right in front of your face,
but shut down and vacant,
and bouncing off of the walls.
Self mutilation seems like a good idea,
but nothing to feel sorry for.
Blood spills one way or another,
how precious is yours?
as mine finds the dark, even in the light.
Rich colored pictures of soiled things,
slow crawl over tiles with platinum toes,
to weigh myself without the help of gravity,
homemade lighter fluid glistening.
These shadows will rat on me,
but the holes don’t believe them anymore.
It’s he said-she said, anyhow.
I could easily scrub these floors.
Who could tell the kool-aid test from the magnesium?
Who needs infrared when you have laser surgery?
Let’s just say I used up nine lives,
but cheaters don’t need a reason to live.
I lie to myself and get away with it.

Prison and a deep respect for all things that died,
while one man’s voice is another’s wound.
We could not easily switch sides,
each of us master of a jaded amount of years,
but you’d recognize the truth if it was murder and they nailed me.
How much more horrible to be on the outside,
and squander it with self destruction?
But the mistake is thinking there is a choice,
just because I’m not behind bars doesn’t mean I am innocent,
and just because you are doesn’t mean you did it,
even though we know it’s common to cry wolf.
What they don’t know is that we don’t want help,
just for some fucking animal to rip our heads off.
How much time can I buy without death row?
Who will give me that undivided attention?
Even I don’t listen to myself enough,
sometimes I don’t listen at all.

Prison of the heart,
except it easily becomes overrated,
and then you’re stuck going through the motions,
but not me, my friends,
over here there is no place for illusions and artificial tears.
I am loyal to fear and the dark,
not that I am scared shitless,
it’s just that I was dangerous without a reality,
sliding up to myself and demanding answers,
because money is a joke without a punchline.
I’ll spend it but you won’t catch me laughing.
This is all a substitute for the main idea.
We’ll just keep getting further from an honest description:
you ram your head against the wall,
and I carve myself like a totem pole.
It’s the spirits, I tell you.
I just saw a glimpse of light,
but the smell of gunpowder doesn’t make sense.
I thought I was bleeding to live.
I thought I was dying to make a point,
but firing blanks is not only for the bedroom.
That’s wisdom from ear to ear,
like a flesh wound without a suspect,
or being cheated out of a scar.
If I find out it was me, I’m going to fix myself good.
It will be one great public show,
everyone will see how easy it is to lay on the floor.