...thinking about you devils tonight - you poorly disguised satyrs & nymphs dancing in my memory to dirty guitars cutting through heartbeats. in this season of the birth of the last blood sacrifice to a hungering god and shabby ritual. how i love you all. how i miss you all and how i want to dance again with you in the light of a painted moon.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
Schrödinger's Cat
Schrödinger's cat
Schrödinger's cat
How does he nibble his kibble in a box like that??
If we sneak a peek
things would be bleak
for poor Schrödinger's cat.
Does he meow or yowl
or chase his furry tail?
Does he have a litter box
in the box of Schrödinger's tale?
Does he nap? Does he purr?
Into a warm ball does he curl?
Does the sun rise
glittering in diamond eyes
of the captive cat?
The ASPCA should lock mean ol' Schrödinger away
for treatment cruel and inhumane.
But lucky for Schrödinger
and this is the stinger
the cat only lives in our brain.
So open your boxes
set your cats free
for a life in a box
is no way to be
devil across the sun
( s h u f f l e )
they meet you more than halfway - they practically beg you to take them
( s h u f f l e )
if i didn't have such a refined sense of morals i would walk out of here
with half the world and the blessings of the sheep i slaughtered
( s h u f f l e )
but i see their eyes as i lay my cards down
and i remember as major and minor arcana twirl
( s h u f f l e )
the devil across my sun - blocking the world
bracketed on all sides by swords
( s h u f f l e )
i'm as big of a rube as they
more so
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
venus barely there
a pin prick in this oklahoma night
far away above
the black on blue on black
clouds congregating like crows
dark as my mind
a tiny bright respite
despite it all
venus barely there
but there
it is
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
hollow
the hollow
in the bed
you left
is cluttered
with dimestore mysteries
paper strumpets
and yesterday's dish
with a glacier's spontaneity
i've crept
to the middle
like a tectonic plate
i slide
i wake
at dawn
cock up
in the middle
in the bed
you left
is cluttered
with dimestore mysteries
paper strumpets
and yesterday's dish
with a glacier's spontaneity
i've crept
to the middle
like a tectonic plate
i slide
i wake
at dawn
cock up
in the middle
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
to be
your unbuttoned button
the curl of your toes
the feather on your lips
the nuzzle on your neck
the whisper in your ear
the pull of your hair
the curious tongue
the impetous caress
the breath on your belly
the sigh in your sanctuary
your moan in the moonlight
your rising tide
the deep blue embrace
the river in your temple
your exploding sun
your shudder at midnight
to be
the curl of your toes
the feather on your lips
the nuzzle on your neck
the whisper in your ear
the pull of your hair
the curious tongue
the impetous caress
the breath on your belly
the sigh in your sanctuary
your moan in the moonlight
your rising tide
the deep blue embrace
the river in your temple
your exploding sun
your shudder at midnight
to be
code 13
my muse
has eyes of jade & bronze
raven hair with crimson steel
she is a deep thrumming vibration
to which i'm undeniably drawn
if you saw her, you would understand
how much of her is behind the scenes
if you saw her you would see
how much is all there
the little girl and
the amused goddess
my muse has a mind like a shark's fin
cutting easily through this deep blue
a hint of the man-eating grin beneath
if you saw her you would ski
upon the pale cream of her skin
and happily count the freckles
she tries to hide
her heart is a waltz of shadows
and dappling light
but beyond these words
she is the woman
that drives me to infinite distraction
has eyes of jade & bronze
raven hair with crimson steel
she is a deep thrumming vibration
to which i'm undeniably drawn
if you saw her, you would understand
how much of her is behind the scenes
if you saw her you would see
how much is all there
the little girl and
the amused goddess
my muse has a mind like a shark's fin
cutting easily through this deep blue
a hint of the man-eating grin beneath
if you saw her you would ski
upon the pale cream of her skin
and happily count the freckles
she tries to hide
her heart is a waltz of shadows
and dappling light
but beyond these words
she is the woman
that drives me to infinite distraction
near
it is a delicate torture
to be near her
unable to touch
or to whisper
words unwinding
(from my clockwork heart)
into the pearl of her ear
her eyes
melt me
everytime
i've never known
hunger before
before i fell
into this delirium
now i hunger
for her touch
her taste
a glance
suspends my heart
in her particular universe
a thousand suns burn
in the light
of her eyes
i burn too
a smoldering cinder
standing here
near her
9/5/08
to be near her
unable to touch
or to whisper
words unwinding
(from my clockwork heart)
into the pearl of her ear
her eyes
melt me
everytime
i've never known
hunger before
before i fell
into this delirium
now i hunger
for her touch
her taste
a glance
suspends my heart
in her particular universe
a thousand suns burn
in the light
of her eyes
i burn too
a smoldering cinder
standing here
near her
9/5/08
Monday, July 14, 2008
norman saturday
i woke up & the dog was dead.
it had been coming for awhile. she hadn't eaten for three days and was wheezing like a rusty gate. all through the night she had been moving from spot to spot to spot trying to get comfortable. her name was precious. she was a good dog.
one of the old farts at the bait shop was all by his lonesome slapping at flies. that's probably why he started talking to me. the conversation eventually led to how a good friend of his was black and how he was one of the nicest, smartest, richest men he knew and how he defied all the n-word stereotypes. n-word x 5 in one sentence.
i was driving away thinking, "racism is folklore.".
breakfast of chicken fried steak & biscuits & gravy at the diner. it was packed as usual. a young college couple were in a booth next to each other. both dorks. hallelujah. i read a few pages of bonfire of the vanities. waitress is the perfect fusion of madonna/whore. a member of the book club is there. we say hi in the way that people who have secrets do.
i'm on a friend's laptop organizing the gazillion files on her virtual desktop. i know that among the mob of jpgs are a lot of nude and bondage shots that she'd rather i not see. mission was accomplished except for one file. the lighting and the blur reminded me of those poloroids from the seventies.
i take this same friend's computer parts to the salvation army to donate. the old hard drive stayed behind to be smashed in a bunch of teeny bits. as i'm walking up to the thrift store another member of the book club drives up in a sporty red car. we shake hands - which is the custom - and say hey.
the temperature is around 90 degrees, i'm coated with sweat and i'm wearing my dead man boots on the outside of my jeans because i wasn't planning on being out. i look like a loser and my fellow book club member seems to enjoy that i do.
i hate that guy. i really do.
as i'm driving i see the dorky college couple in a rust-colored hatchback. hallelujah.
i buy a copy of "heartbreak soup" by los bros hernandez.
let me tell you about my absolutely last trip. the werewolf plopped a small package of mushrooms in my hand and said, "happy birthday" - which it wasn't. i wound up at the house that i was supposed to rent a room from feeling the cords of deep thrumming electricity coursing through my body. to get some relief from the sensation of being a wad of tinfoil in a giant's hand i went to the fridge to drink the sangria i had bought earlier. someone had drank it. someone drank my blood.
that's when i saw the dead girl. in a yearbook picture of a girl's basketball team a blonde girl in the back was dead, staring at me with a wicked glare. i close the book but that same face follows me in the pattern of the tiled floor, the woodgrain of the paneling, the reflections of a glass. alone in a strange house being pursued by the dead girl.
sitting in a chair in a small room off the main living room i went through an incredible transformation. the light above me blossomed into an angelic vision. the dead girl was dispelled. i was at peace.
that's when someone smashed in a window. in my fevered state of mind this black clad drunken lad - who had broken into this sanctuary i clung to - was the devil. he sat next to me and asked "how are you?" sensing that this was a chess game for my soul i asked. "how are YOU?"
pizza buffet, more bonfire. the x calls because i called because i could loan her $20. before she gets there an old acquaintance turns around and says, "it's aaron, isn't it?"
"brad."
"i'm nathan"
"i know."
he tells me about working in new orleans - about the devastation. i think that he turned out to be a handsome, well-adjusted, successful guy. the x gets there and he trips on his own face. the conversation veers into a dark, paranoid rant that gets progressively racist. the x starts to argue with him. i state that we need to drop the whole thing. he eventually leaves, mouth going a mile a minute predicting doom and pestilence.
after he leaves i ask her if she remembered my mushroom story.
"meet the devil." i say pointing in the direction of his exit.
a cup of starbucks. my dad walks in and the x walks out. i try to pay for his coffee but he isn't having it. he winds up buying mine.
i debate the merits of strippers vs porn. i come to the realization that it's just another obstacle i'm putting in the way of being vunderable with a woman, of opening myself up to the possibility of going through the same hell i've been through. i go for the porn. another day of purgatory.
i go home, work on gargoyles, watch strangers fuck and write this.
it's 10 minutes into sunday now.
it had been coming for awhile. she hadn't eaten for three days and was wheezing like a rusty gate. all through the night she had been moving from spot to spot to spot trying to get comfortable. her name was precious. she was a good dog.
one of the old farts at the bait shop was all by his lonesome slapping at flies. that's probably why he started talking to me. the conversation eventually led to how a good friend of his was black and how he was one of the nicest, smartest, richest men he knew and how he defied all the n-word stereotypes. n-word x 5 in one sentence.
i was driving away thinking, "racism is folklore.".
breakfast of chicken fried steak & biscuits & gravy at the diner. it was packed as usual. a young college couple were in a booth next to each other. both dorks. hallelujah. i read a few pages of bonfire of the vanities. waitress is the perfect fusion of madonna/whore. a member of the book club is there. we say hi in the way that people who have secrets do.
i'm on a friend's laptop organizing the gazillion files on her virtual desktop. i know that among the mob of jpgs are a lot of nude and bondage shots that she'd rather i not see. mission was accomplished except for one file. the lighting and the blur reminded me of those poloroids from the seventies.
i take this same friend's computer parts to the salvation army to donate. the old hard drive stayed behind to be smashed in a bunch of teeny bits. as i'm walking up to the thrift store another member of the book club drives up in a sporty red car. we shake hands - which is the custom - and say hey.
the temperature is around 90 degrees, i'm coated with sweat and i'm wearing my dead man boots on the outside of my jeans because i wasn't planning on being out. i look like a loser and my fellow book club member seems to enjoy that i do.
i hate that guy. i really do.
as i'm driving i see the dorky college couple in a rust-colored hatchback. hallelujah.
i buy a copy of "heartbreak soup" by los bros hernandez.
let me tell you about my absolutely last trip. the werewolf plopped a small package of mushrooms in my hand and said, "happy birthday" - which it wasn't. i wound up at the house that i was supposed to rent a room from feeling the cords of deep thrumming electricity coursing through my body. to get some relief from the sensation of being a wad of tinfoil in a giant's hand i went to the fridge to drink the sangria i had bought earlier. someone had drank it. someone drank my blood.
that's when i saw the dead girl. in a yearbook picture of a girl's basketball team a blonde girl in the back was dead, staring at me with a wicked glare. i close the book but that same face follows me in the pattern of the tiled floor, the woodgrain of the paneling, the reflections of a glass. alone in a strange house being pursued by the dead girl.
sitting in a chair in a small room off the main living room i went through an incredible transformation. the light above me blossomed into an angelic vision. the dead girl was dispelled. i was at peace.
that's when someone smashed in a window. in my fevered state of mind this black clad drunken lad - who had broken into this sanctuary i clung to - was the devil. he sat next to me and asked "how are you?" sensing that this was a chess game for my soul i asked. "how are YOU?"
pizza buffet, more bonfire. the x calls because i called because i could loan her $20. before she gets there an old acquaintance turns around and says, "it's aaron, isn't it?"
"brad."
"i'm nathan"
"i know."
he tells me about working in new orleans - about the devastation. i think that he turned out to be a handsome, well-adjusted, successful guy. the x gets there and he trips on his own face. the conversation veers into a dark, paranoid rant that gets progressively racist. the x starts to argue with him. i state that we need to drop the whole thing. he eventually leaves, mouth going a mile a minute predicting doom and pestilence.
after he leaves i ask her if she remembered my mushroom story.
"meet the devil." i say pointing in the direction of his exit.
a cup of starbucks. my dad walks in and the x walks out. i try to pay for his coffee but he isn't having it. he winds up buying mine.
i debate the merits of strippers vs porn. i come to the realization that it's just another obstacle i'm putting in the way of being vunderable with a woman, of opening myself up to the possibility of going through the same hell i've been through. i go for the porn. another day of purgatory.
i go home, work on gargoyles, watch strangers fuck and write this.
it's 10 minutes into sunday now.
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