#83

Tuesday, September 22, 2015

I like to think I'm wearing a red windbreaker
But it's really a red hooded sweatshirt
Because I'm not a rebel
I am a clown

#82

Monday, October 12, 2015


Wild Turkey (not 101)

mottled skin
splotched and stretched
betwixt the neck and
talon'd beak
short and sleek
sharkish eye
more kind than i'd
ever expect.
&
i'd never known its beauty
if you'd not shown me
so thanks for that.

#81

Wednesday, October 7, 2015


Calling in Sick

i can't deal with your frog-eyed stare
English teeth and American brain
"this is how we should do it"
when you've invested nothing
"oh, that's what i thought"
when you don't have a clue
step up or step back
and realize:
we'd take your help, if it was true
but we sure as shit don't need you

#80

Thursday, September 24, 2015

I'm not hermiting
I'm cocooning

#79

Friday, July 10, 2015


Belated Eulogy for HW

Mountains of pain
Looming in distant fog
Beyond idyllic rolling fields
Of absurdity, comedy,
And a desire to remain unserious
Able to stay there
With the right music
And a handful of whatever's around
Until the bottom dropped out
After a tape-recorded night of celebration
I don't know exactly what followed
But I think I can guess:
A moment of clarity
     of realizing how fucked things are
     and maybe how fucked they've always been
A seeking of help
     an admission that you can't save yourself by yourself
     no matter how much it hurts
A period of optimism
     trying to reintegrate
     maybe even feeling good for a while
Until the bottom dropped even further
As the gnawing inside became more intense
Falling back into old habits -
Attempts to satiate the ravenous maw
Only to find those habits are less effective than ever
Because now you know better
     (or should, anyway)
But nothing/no-one else fills that void, either
No matter what or who it is
Those feelings
     the ones that had been there forever
     the ones that kept getting worse
...you couldn't see them ever going away
And once that idea solidified
You understood that you'd never really lived
And probably never would
So you left it all behind
Forced your sister to a place inconceivable
I read her words, and they broke my heart
Because I imagined my sister writing the same, yes
But also because I see a lot of me in you
And, truth be told,
I'm afraid I might meet you
And soon.

"I just think motherfuckers wanna laugh"

#78

Thursday, July 9, 2015


My Feet are Fucking Freezing

two years and i'm back in the same place
well, no, not the same place
i'm doing better in a lot of ways
and this time it's my choice
but still, even after xanax and a joint
nothing will slow down right now

#77

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

Not to sound dramatic
But there are days when taking my life
Seems easier than taking a shower
  (a thing I like to do!)
When every word I force through my teeth
Feels like a paperthin death

I'm not trying to go easy on me
But you should know:
The fact that I made multiple(!) phonecalls today
Is fucking miraculous
Especially when they were about me

Progress takes time.
There are a lot of false starts
And a lot of fallings flat
  on my stupid face;
I know it's painful to watch
  (really, I do)
But as long as I'm still laughing
Can/'t you laugh, too?

#76

Tuesday, June 16, 2015

poking nerves wrapped in cellophane
because I'm "right about everything"
yeah, sure, I'm right about everything
...but I am right about everything

     Neither of us asked for it
     And I think we both get that
     But you had me
     And I didn't ask for it
     Do you get that?

fuck, why do I always make myself the victim?
why am I always assigning blame
but never accepting it?


Wednesday, June 17, 2015

Staring at lines in the ceiling
Stuck in the longest afternoon
I just want to sleep
To sleep, but not to dream
To shut down completely
Because I think too much...

I consume myself with thought
Teeth ripping, tearing, rending
Leaving behind a mound of unidentifiable gristle
Spending days, weeks, trying to rebuild it into something that makes sense
Some sculpture that will provide an answer
     - or at least a fucking hint
     the slightest idea of what's broken inside me
But it always comes out wrong
Dripping pockmarks, jagged bony protrusions
A hideous shrine to futility

And me, lying face-down at its base
Waiting for the strength to tear it down again
Though I'm never sure if I want to keep trying
Or add another line


"I love dreamless sleep. Dreams tell me too much. Sometimes the less I know, the better. The more I look, the more I see.

I have tried some stupid things in my time. Gone to extremes to try and get away from things in my head that I knew were trying to kill me. Hard to swallow when you see yourself as the enemy. Only you could put yourself through this. I have tried to ignore myself, failing miserably every time.

Have you ever tried to outrun yourself? Lose yourself in a crowd, hide from yourself in the stall of a bathroom? Take on a new attitude to fool yourself into thinking that you're someone else? Me too. Same thing every time. At the end, it's always you holding onto yourself. Out of breath, self-humiliated, hot footed, red handed and hopelessly human.

How far does one have to go before the pain falls away? I don't want to shoot myself in the head anymore. I'm tired of that money business. I'm tired of my brain. I want to remove parts—burn parts out. Do you get tired of the language that they speak, the things that they do? Me too. They shove dirt into my thoughts. Can't wait for the sun to go down today. I can come out at night. I can lose myself at night. Walk and forget. Walk and unload."
~Henry Rollins, "Monster"

#75

Wednesday, May 27, 2015

"A man's gotta
believe in something..."

If that's true
I'm not a man
Because I couldn't fucking tell you
What I believe



Tuesday, June 9, 2015


My Life is Not a Movie, Thank God


Act I

in the film of my life
i'm certainly not the star
and on the off-chance that i am
i'm the tragic hero
...no, the pitiable protagonist

#74

Friday, June 5, 2015


TMBG*

equilibrium still fucked from
swinging on a deck swing
swang and swung
sweng and songs
deck me
emotionally (*)
and it all feels wrong

#73

Monday, May 25, 2015

Unconditional love is wrong


Thursday, May 28, 2015

Even through the haze
I can see ten-year-old me
And the look in his eyes
Is the same look in mine
Sick and scared
Sick and scared


Monday, June 1, 2015

for the love of fuck
can i please, please just drop out
and stop disappointing everyone?

#72

Monday, June 23, 2014

sediment builds up
over time
and again
you do the same
things i do
as do you
we're the same
so they say
so i say
i should say
goodbye, my name
say it, too,
"Goodbye, you."
Forget my name
Goodbye, shame
now i'm mine
undone time and time undone
fucked off and won
yes, dad, i'm your son



Monday, September 14, 2014

subconsciously hyperaware
too much thinking, too many thoughts
too many I don't know
can't comprehend what I understand
or vice-versa, who really cares?
never knowing the truth;
anyone else's, sure, I get it...
but mine?
really?
my own?

what happens when you don't know what you really feel?
what you really believe?
what you know,
what you enjoy
and why?
when you're not sure if you're lying -
not only to other people
but also to yourself...
what then?
I mean, really
what then?



Wednesday, January 28, 2015

worms may
at one point
 infest your brain
       and once they put you in the ground
       i'll dance on your grave
 as they finish it off



Wednesday, May 27, 2015


junebugs

wings cir-cirrussing
brown buzz white noise
remembrance of a beetle
floating in suctioned,
chlorinated water
clear and blue, through and through
six serrated legs
shredding air as
my aunt's pool
pulls us
under
insect
and i
remember

#71

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

She shook the feminine out of me
And I think it fucked me, for the time being
But I want her to know it's not her fault
That she's cool as fuck
And that things are okay
Really, really okay

Though I'm afraid I'd be convincing her as much as I am myself

-----

Pater Noster

Flashbacks to things that might never have happened
I really hope they didn't
...but I keep remembering more and more
And I think they did
And I worry that I want someone to blame
...or maybe just want to seem tragic
But the more I think the more I remember
Or at least I think I do
...the Law of Fives is never wrong
But I wouldn't remember
If it never happened
...yeah?



Monday, May 18, 2015

i asked the Dry Man what lie beyond his door
he said nothing but existence vdtgrf




Thursday, May 21, 2015


Miscarriages

Firstborn of the unborn
Don't put that shit on me
Your god was clearly trying to send you a message
But you ignored it
And now we're all paying for it
You selfish cunts
You sinners



Saturday, May 23, 2015

light
fly
fly towards it
giant field of light
land
taste
taste static
legs to proboscis

some flying insect i hate
because i envy
its mechanical life

#70

Friday, February 6, 2015

time is so elastic
mouldered tentacles of string cheese
dripping off a pizza man o' war
snapping back
bungee-style
into the maw of the present



Monday, May 4, 2015


Spring Cleaning

Cobwebs in my head
Sick and sick and sick

You're not the next Bukowski, man
Thompson, Hemingway, or Kerouac
Anyone can drink and write in the middle of the day
Anyone can put a bullet in their brain

...then again, anyone can be sober
and do the same

So fucking be something different



Monday, May 18, 2015

i want to photograph the photographer
to capture the beauty of a being
beautifully involved in being
while capturing a being
beautifully involved in being

i want the world to see through her eyes
and her to see herself through my eyes
and the eyes of countless others



Friday, May 22, 2015

I remember, in the seventh grade
Praying for the End of Days
Because I was tired of living

#69

Friday, May 22, 2015


Georges Perec: thanks, and fuck you

Sometimes you read something that speaks to you so deeply, moves you so tremendously, expresses so perfectly your innermost desires that it's frightening, terrifying, absolutely gutwrenching. You feel inspired to write, but any words that manifest themselves in your mind seem pale, shallow, borderline meaningless in comparison. Your breath sticks in your throat, your heart forgets to beat, your eyes well with saline, and you're left paralyzed, able only to continue turning pages and scanning text, praying that the final paragraphs will offer some insight, some answer; that this other person who has gone through exactly what you're going through, who has dreamt the same obscure dreams of disappearing, who spent agonizing weeks putting his darkest thoughts into bleak, beautiful prose - that this person might bring some clarity, some meaning, to the situation you've both found yourselves in.

Alas, the novel ends and life continues; nothing solved, nothing gained, perpetually ongoing.



It is on a day like this one, a little later, a little earlier, that you discover, without surprise, that something is wrong, that, without mincing words, you don't know how to live, that you will never know.

Something was going to break, something has broken. You no longer feel - how to put it? - held up: it is as if some thing which, it seemed to you, it seems to you, fortified you until then, gave warmth to your heart, something like the feeling of your existence, of your importance almost, the impression of belonging to you or of being in the world, is starting to slip away from you.
...
This is your life. This is yours. You can establish an exact inventory of your meagre fortune, the precise balance sheet of your first quarter-century. You are twenty-five years old, you have twenty-nine teeth, three shirts and eight socks, a few books you no longer read, a few records you no longer play. You do not want to remember anything else, be it your family or your studies, your friends and lovers, or your holidays and plans. You traveled and you brought nothing back from your travels. Here you sit, and you want only to wait, just to wait until there is nothing left to wait for: for night to fall and the passing hours to chime, for the days to slip away and the memories to fade.
...
You are not in the habit of making diagnoses, and you don't want to start now. What is worrying you, what is disturbing you, what is frightening you, but which now and then gives you a thrill, is not the suddenness of your metamorphosis, but precisely the opposite: the vague and heavy feeling that it isn't a metamorphosis at all, that nothing has changed, that you've always been like this, even though you only now realize it fully: that thing, in the cracked mirror, is not your new face, it is just that the masks have slipped, the heat in your room has melted them, your torpor has soaked them off. The masks of unswerving conviction, of the straight and narrow. Did you never have an inkling, not once in twenty-five years, of that which, today, has already become inexorable? Did you never see any cracks in what, for you, takes the place of a history? Times when nothing was happening, times when you were simply ticking over in neutral. The fleeting and poignant desire to hear no more, to see no more, to remain silent and motionless. Crazy dreams of solitude. An amnesiac wandering through the Land of the Blind: wide, empty streets, cold lights, faces without mouths that you would look at without seeing. They would never get to you.

It is as if, beneath the surface of your calm and reassuring history (the good little boy, the model pupil, the dependable pal), as if, running beneath the obvious, too obvious, signs of growth and maturity - scribbled graffiti on toilet doors, certificates, long trousers, the first cigarette, the sting of the first shave, alcohol, the key left under the mat for your Saturday night outings, losing your virginity, the baptism of air, the baptism of fire - as if another thread had always been running, ever present but always held at bay, and which is now weaving the familiar fabric of your rediscovered existence, the bare backdrop of your abandoned life, memories which suddenly resurface, veiled images of this revealed truth, of this resignation so long deferred, of this appeal for calm - hazy and lifeless images, over-exposed snapshots, almost white, almost dead, almost already fossilised: a street in a sleepy provincial town, closed shutters, dull windows, the buzzing of flies in an army post, a lounge draped in grey dustsheets, particles suspended in a ray of sunlight, bare countryside, cemeteries on a Sunday, outings in a car.

Man sitting on a narrow bed, one Thursday afternoon, a book open on his knees, eyes vacant.
...
To want nothing. Just to wait, until there is nothing left to wait for. Just to wander, and to sleep. To let yourself be carried along by the crowds, and the streets. To follow the gutters, the fences, the water’s edge. To walk the length of the embankments, to hug the walls. To waste your time. To have no projects, to feel no impatience. To be without desire, or resentment, or revolt.

#68

c. July 2008


Boxer & Hedges

Sitting outside
I light a cigarette
And I hope it will help me think
Take a long, slow drag
Breathing the smoke into my lungs
Alcohol won't make things better
But I drink anyway
Because I can't find a good reason not to
And I don't know if I should
And I don't know if it's good
I'm thinking about her
Still
Like I've been doing since I met her
I listen to a sad song
And another comes on
So I light another cigarette
Inhale, then breathe out
Watch the smoke until it disappears
Thinking I shouldn't let her do the same
But I don't know if I should
But I don't know if it's good
Take another drink, take another drag
Take another thought
And try and work out its conclusion
I think too much
And don't act enough
I wonder if I can save her
I wonder if I should save her
If it's even my place
I consider my motives
Then consider my motives for considering
Trying to rationalize it all to myself
So I don't feel guilty
But that wouldn't change anything
Because I would still want to help her
Except I don't know if I should
Except I don't know if it's good
I've been transfixed on her
Since she crashed into my life
The way the dawn crashes in after too many drinks
The way she crashes when her high wears off
Three days of not feeling right
Three days of helplessness
Of not being able to change anything
Maybe I know how she feels better than I think I do
A change of songs, a change of cigarettes
But that's all that changes
My mind remains the same
As I wonder where she is
And if she'd even listen to me
And if that would even make a difference
I contemplate my cigarette as it dies
Hoping if I can focus my sight, I can focus my thoughts
Put one final filter to my lips
As the fire burns my eyes
The way the sun will tomorrow morning
The way she burns my brain right now
I think I could change things if I tried
If I did something other than thinking
And I think...
I think I'm going to
Though I don't know if I should
Though I don't know if it's good
I need a decent night's sleep for once



Thursday, May 14, 2015


Misanthropic Humanism

I love all homo sapiens
Each and every individual one

Let us do the proper thing
And all commit suicide

#67

Wednesday, May 6, 2015


Roadblock while Crossing the Jordan

I know a guy
   sweet and enthusiastic
   honorable and kind
   and quite possibly an actual genius
with a family,
depression,
and Crohn's.

...how the fuck can I pity me?

-----

Introverted/Road Trippin'/Trying Too Hard

It's me
It's not any of you, honestly
I need time alone or I'll lose it
But I rarely get it¹

I want to sell my record collection
Fill the trunk of my car with books and cassettes²
And drive until I break down
On some unmapped backroad
Spent and out of gas
To rust out the rest of my days³



¹I don't even have the solitary moments of driving to and from work anymore; home-dubbed punk rock loud on the stereo, cigarette or spliff burning, windows as open as I'd like to be - though truth be told, I don't get this, either

²(and a pound or two of subpar pot
...and maybe a couple handles of whiskey or brandy
something brown, so it lasts a little longer)

³If I had the guts to do anything but write

#66

Wednesday, April 22, 2015


Hardquestioncore

Do I ever say what I mean
Or mean what I say?
Or is everything panic-fueled obfuscation
Masquerading as rage?
Am I honest with myself?
Is my memory selective?
...did any of this even fucking happen?
Or am I simply covering up the fact
That I'm still completely dissastisfied
With who I am?



Saturday, April 25, 2015


Back a Week (in retrospect)

We awoke separately in the early afternoon
She raised a bottle with her tattooed wrist
Took the saddest pull of Irish whiskey I've ever seen
And didn't offer me any
And I don't know if I've ever been more turned on
(or more wrong)



Wednesday, April 29, 2015


fuckthis

It's back
That fucking familiar weight
Deep, deep in my guts
More than two decades old now
Throwing off my center of gravity
Until I can only sit
Then lie down
Eyelids clenched like terrified fingers
Begging the Universe for sleep

#65

Friday, April 17, 2015


In line at a gas station, energy drink in hand
To ease the second legitimate hangover I've had in months
Pressing pleasure-sore teeth marks on my shoulders
Reminders of last night
And a hope for more to come

...yeah, this is pretty great
I just hope next time I can make things conclude

-----

I awoke to her sleeping face
Smiled
And drifted off again

#64

Tuesday, April 14, 2015


Phantom Phonecall from an Italian Restaurant I've Never Been Inside

Jakeeno's rang.
They told me to get over myself.
They said, "What happened is what happened;
and while it influenced you,
it didn't define you -
because that's your job."

So I stepped out for a smoke,
then crawled into my turbulent bed;
alone and hopeful and alone
and hopeful

#63

Sunday, March 1, 2015


a wax disc revolves
crackles,  hisses, pops warmly
sings before the song

-----

i haven't smoked with
anyone but my parents
in more than a year


Monday, March 2, 2015


i can't wait to see
a hawk gliding the thermals
and smile for once

#62

Tuesday, February 24, 2015


Jesus Christ, I'm Scared

I didn't have the money for a ticket, anyway
That's part of the reason I haven't said anything
  (should've checked my bank account before I put fingertips to keyboard)
And people are a burden for me too
But... sandwiches, maybe?

Also
I hope you're okay in
Every way

#61

Thursday, February 19, 2015

Clouds Taste Metallic

i know it's not The Soft Bulletin, but
would you wanna see it live?

we could each buy a ticket

and i think it might be

pretty great

#60

Wednesday, February 4, 2015


Cromulent

to be broken by life
to heal
and be broken again
that is life
only to heal once more
and become
stronger
enstrengthened
by life
by being broken
by life
by being broken
by life
by being broken
by life