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.

Greator Enchantments ..pt I

09/01/07

Is this the next day or eternal nights disguised by a dream,
moving forward when it rains just as much as when the wind blows,
yesterday’s voices or more of the past,
more thunder than lightening,
but thunder never started a fire.
It’s not the same fight,
you are stronger than you have ever been,
and nothing will make you go back there again,
nothing that can cut you so perfect.
You found someone,
even though you thought it was impossible,
exactly what the sky uncovers,
no storm that could divert your attention,
no picture complete without a weapon.
You wear your scars for your lovers,
some will not flinch but only one will consume them,
so you run into the fold of light, blinded where you stand,
one minute turns into hours, months on a calender of mountains.
How can you begin to explain?
but perhaps you don’t have too.
If there is a test of time, you bring it on,
you wrench at its heart,
you clamp on its throat,
usher the flight of darkness to see exactly where you are,
a ring of stars that fill your eyes,
night and day dancing.
You can be everything you want in his arms,
starving and ravaged,
solid and precious,
but most of all, no more reflections of the past,
no more infections.
You can stomp that into the ground now, and flowers will place themselves on the grave.
Let them mourn you in circles, because you buried those chains.
Let them act horrified.
They never seen a woman taken by these things,
but this is who you have always been.

 

maze 37

08/31/07

Great traditions or extreme vague ghost,

do you know, do you know?

Over land, the surface,

how the Moon still moves, the tide on fire,

I am nothing- in spite of explaining.

Who ever I am talking too,

when the hell are you coming?

In the meantime playful running, not at top speed,

I am right, aren’t I?

Who ever you split atoms with, it’s not the same thing.

I am right, I am in the dark,

only an outline that burns.

Do you see hot ash or frustration?

Come touch these lips, your dirty fingers,

slide your infections something disgusting and sexy.

I am most certainly ready,

disrobed under the tiger, for good.

What will you offer to keep its mouth full?

Claws that can scratch the surface or they can cause serious suffering,

but it won’t be the bolted doors.

Do you know, do you know?

These words are as good as thin air,

and I am such a dead man for explaining.

For-go the sandwiches for cigarettes.

Alright, I am in the living room,

just a little hunting will uncover me.

This can go on for eternity,

I am most certainly ready…

 

Wild in the Woods

08/24/07

Who is really following me?
Do I need to describe where I go?
Whatever is on those corners is deep in despair,
and there is no place to hide it now.
People see me killing myself,
and they surprise my second nature,
they offer their condolences,
but it only means what I am running from is true,
but exactly how much do I need it?
When they press me for a reason I only have holes to show.
The past will replace these words.
Do you see it like they do?
are you still with me through thick and thin?
When did we start putting expiration dates on ourselves?
The sun is completely underground,
and this isolation sets in,
hungry like the wolf I intend to destroy,
and nobody understands why I am exposed.
They want to hear it from me first hand,
but there is no place for me to catch my breath.
Do I need to describe what I have lost?
I shouldn’t even be here anymore,
already a goner so despair is a fucking joke.
Maybe we should have marked our words better.
And the weekend is coming up fast,
people rely on it so much to make them forget,
but I am not keeping track of the days,
there is nothing to fight for.
If this is where someone like you leads me,
then I know how I should prepare,
because it is not too hard to see my death,
the same way I bleed for it,
but do I believe in you enough to understand what you struggle to control.
And what if it never makes sense?
What if it is just the truth no matter what?
So I push off these walls, into the crowds,
I let the direction of traffic predict my moves,
not sure where I will end up but I know what I am running from,
and I am not sure what I should do but I know what I wanted to do.

At Times Square where I once had you under my arm,
and I froze my ass off but it was pure love,
so time couldn’t build up any results.
I was immune in your text,
at peace surrounded by unavoidable death,
but somehow I got clipped.
I thought you had me covered,
in spite of the target practice I still have you covered,
and I stagger to all our spiritual bus-stops.
This is where you held my bones together,
this is where you held me so close.
I thought I was so sure,
who else could see me like this?
and I listened to the tongues of everyone,
it was just proof that I knew I was right.
There will be no one like you,
and maybe there never was,
maybe you just don’t believe it enough,
but do you hate yourself enough to deny it?
Please don’t.
Let me take up that side of the ghost,
and I don’t have a phone anymore,
and even if I did I have a feeling it would be silent.

Funny how much time passes,
for someone who doesn’t notice, it sure feels obvious.
I have to split,
people are stopping too much, they expect something to show,
even I am confused.
What do they see that I don’t notice?
They feel obligated to talk to me,
they ask if I am alright, what could I say?
It is the empty space that I can not cover up,
all of my old losses are already done bleeding,
it is not the real problem anymore.
They read my mind even when uninvited,
and I am shocked that they do not pounce on me.
Suddenly I get the respect I so desperately deserve.
I hear them whisper behind my back:
“there goes a real brave man”
“he gave up his life for us.”
Sometimes they do not even know what that means but they see it.
They take the opportunity to witness the voice behind all their dreams:
“that’s the guy who spoke about us so perfect”
“how do you do it Chris?”
And what could I really say?
I tell them it is the same way they already know my name,
but then they remind me that it is written all over my face.

So here I am in the flesh,
as current as the words drying permanent.
I must have walked in circles all evening,
I am not sure if these are the same holes.
Are you still with me in these hiding places?
Are you staying strong or have you lost all hope?
and truthfully you know everything that I have to say,
but do you love me enough to never rest?
until you find a way to go to war?
because as of right now I have no more strength.
The cops are staring me down,
they expect me to collapse at any moment,
and then they will poke me and tell me to move on.
I light a cigarette to show them I still have muscles,
but it is true, I can barely move.
Am I everything they say I am?
probably, but not because I command it.
It is just the most crazy collection of life,
I sure lived it to the fullest.
I watched kingdoms come and go,
I seen the streets exchange hands so many times I can’t even keep count,
and once, it was my hands in the mix,
and if you press the echoes long enough,
you can still hear the stories they tell.
And I think I did them justice,
even if I ruled with an iron fist,
I also guided with a pure heart,
but does that ever show?
and does anyone really care?
because there is no higher ground to retire to.
I must be the loneliest man out here,
and judging from this place, that is saying a lot,
actually quite fucking frightening.
Am I just like the end of common sense?
waiting for a pipe dream I once held?
but I tasted it so I am still sure.

Who is really following me?
I have my guesses and suspicions,
but what I really want is my wishes,
but do I believe in it enough to withstand this thick air?
and a fire that spreads out of control?
I fall back on the only thing I have ever known,
but it is the very spirits that drove me into holes.
Their voices are relentless and bleeding,
always so fucking bleeding.
The blood is the only thing I have ever known,
and I have come to expect everything snatched from my soul.
Yeah, that is what I am good at, the eyes and ears of it all.
So then, here is your descriptions as requested.
For someone who can explain so much,
why can’t I have even the smallest piece of it?
And I am by the pier, downtown,
where the ferry collects people and brings them safely home.
I look long and hard but I do not dare touch,
because my love is not on that boat,
and she probably never will,
but is she on my back, on my shoulders?
sometimes it is so hard to tell.
I watch their faces through their port-windows,
they want so bad to tell me that it will be ok,
but they don’t know how to find the words,
usually that is my job for them,
and honestly, I still don’t mind or regret it,
but do you love me enough to save me?
to show me that my words are more than just thoughts?
Can I find a way to tell the spirits they were wrong?
that there is someone strong enough to carry me when they have too,
because I certainly want to carry them when they need it.
We have that ultimate potential between us,
more than I have ever seen in my life,
but is it enough?
I know my answer, yet I am not coming home.
I will just borrow the apartment for a while and then walk around some more.

Nothing for No one.

08/22/07

What are you going to do with me now?

and you can’t answer so fast,

after I thought just as long and hard,

could have wrote anything I wanted,

slang up the ass as if you were right there,

the violence that always presents itself to me,

or crazy logic and deep philosophies,

staring at these hands as I write,

could have said anything I needed too,

and anything you needed me too,

but it is not going to be that simple,

instead I am going to photograph myself,

already slipping viscously into the past,

and I can see how things have gone terribly wrong,

and even more funny that we are not the only ones,

but I am,

over here I am.

What are you going to do with me now?

and you can never have what you never did,

but the future is escalated,

sped out of control and it sucks,

because I am not a part of anyone’s history,

even though they try,

one pair of eyes just doesn’t work,

so I close mine to the day I die,

since everything is already fading away,

I don’t get to share that space,

not so easy when it comes natural,

repeating conversations with myself,

convincing me about all things for a reason,

then being alone must be an unknown gift,

what happens when I grow tired of silence?

and I see how things get blown out of proportion,

and even more funny that we are not the only ones,

but I am,

over here I am.

What are you going to do with me now?

trained in a bitter face to the door,

turn the key and open up your heart,

but embraced by empty winds,

and the windows are closed,

and the street has nothing to trade,

so I confess to echoes that are not easily moved,

not until I admit I was wrong.

Yes, I was wrong so this is where I am,

tracing myself to the floor,

I should settle in for good,

who cares if it is fair when words are a disgrace?

missing the truth for believing the facts,

we are going to tell each other whatever feels safe,

so there was really no chance to overcome doubt,

and this is fate reminding me again,

should I dare to make sense of it,

the years will prove there is no use anymore,

and I see how things are already prearranged,

and even more funny how we are not the only ones,

but I am,

over here I am.