Saturday, December 30, 2006

Rain And Coffee And Nat King Cole Prompt Me To Say...

It is winter and I just don't do much in the winter time. Not because it is cold; on the contrary, it has been quite nice with a few small spells of traditional December weather here. It is not because of the holidays, I don't mind them too much save that they make me feel that time has somehow sped up within the last few years. I just don't do much come winter time. I read, work, and stay in to doors mostly. Listening to music and drinks with friends is about all I can do. Thus, I haven't been producing anything new, which almost scares me, but after this spin has been happening for the past few years, I know it only means I'll start again with new and different perspectives to represent. Different versions of myself, so to speak. I have also had a great many decisions to make that of which deny me the simple luxury of writing poetry well. I have been thinking of going back to further my education in college. This seems like such a simple decision, and to an extent it is, but I do not know if I wish to move or not, which drastically complicates things. I have a sort of life down here. It is one of which I am not ashamed of but I am not satisfied with it either. When the holidays leave this place all of the friends I still talk to will run back to their lives and I will once again be alone in this town with a very short list of those whom I still spend time with, their plates being very full too. That is when you will see the poetry come pouring out of me- when I have no other choice. But then I wonder, "if I become busy myself between work and school will I be forced to neglect my writings and give up the word?" I don't think that this is likely, but life is strange like that. Still, my writing began when I was in school long ago and has thrived ever since nourished by the years of life external to the institutionalized ways of schooling, so I feel that it might only become more frequent from the increase of activity of thought on a broader scale, a controlled scale at any rate. Why I'm telling you all of this is beyond me. Perhaps its simply because I felt the need to write something on this rainy saturday morning and it may as well be explanatory. Maybe I'm just journaling again.

Friday, December 29, 2006

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Sunday, December 24, 2006

Christmas Cookies

Here are a couple little bits since I have been neglecting my proverbial "post" here at The Mother.

What?

One more night
Like this,
Where I can't sleep like I should
And I'm going
To smash everything I can
With the aluminum bat
Next to my door, man.
Hey,
I used aluminum in this poem,
That is didactic.
There it is again...
Right on.

The Big Man Upstairs Is A Cold Motherfucker, Dig? Pt. 1

Someone said, "God, chill out!"
And suddenly it was December.
The tree's became giant sticks stuck upward
From the ground,
And ice ants invaded the town,
And everyone was falling on their ass
While snow tumbled around them.

Thursday, December 21, 2006

Public Announcement

I am very sick today. I have a cold, and I can't do anything except cough, sleep, and take pills. I hate, hate, hate being sick.


Thus, there will be no words tonight, I'm afraid.

Monday, December 18, 2006

I'm Only Sleeping...

After all,
It's not as if I want to miss it-
Miss that little bit of you
That lingers in front of me.
It's not your fault,
I'm only sleeping.
I don't take notice
Of the things you say
The way you wish I would;
I'm off again
On another daydream
With or without
Permission.
Resisting this
Is so damned hard, I know.
I never expect you to stick around.
It's only ever after that
I see how I've been gone again,
And then its just too late, I know.
I just don't feel the way I should,
I guess there must be something wrong.
But then again,
I'm only sleeping;
As chance would have it
Usually dreaming about you.
I don't feel your smile around-
My head's somewhere up in the clouds,
And nothing, no one, nowhere
Takes me back down.
It's not your fault,
I'm only sleeping...
Then I awake
And you are gone.

Thursday, December 14, 2006

Thesaurus

I have the worlds oldest thesaurus in my pocket,
And motherfucker it is great.
Now, I know what you're thinking...
"Enigmatic, cataclysmic, allegorical, asinine fool."
Well my friend,
Words are bricks so I throw bricks at your face.
And then,
When your teeth lay prostrate
In the palm,
I will kick you swiftly in the ass
With a bit of forever,
So you can sail high-horsed to the moon,
Then fall back educated.

Monday, December 11, 2006

The Moth and Poems For Peaches

The Moth

The moth flies clumbsily to the light,
And having nothing better to do
I sit spanning time here tonight.
The cars drive by noisily,
The cigarettes taste the same.
But that little moth, he sings to me
A melancholy hymnal of distress,
And it went a little something like this:
"I came upon a night so dark,
Fraught with cool and cruel black
That when I saw the light so stark,
I knew there was no turning back."
Up to the light the little moth went
As I sat back and felt a grown man's lament.
I smiled wide as I rubbed my rough chin
As the smoke lay thick and the traffic got thin.
Well the moth flies clumbsily to the light
And the man sits uncomfortably night after night.
And having nothing better to do
They both span their time away;
One towards the light,
One towards decay.

----------------------------------------------------
Peaches (Part 1)

Peaches,
I'm not at my best today.
The lightbulb burnt out in the bathroom,
The parking meter ran out during work.
I spilled soda on my pants at lunch.
The traffic took too long again,
And my bills are overdue.
I locked my keys in the truck
And your letter still isn't here,
And neither are you.

Thursday, December 07, 2006

Coffee and Instabilities.

"At rising tide you're looking fresher than a July Bride; we're picking up what our mothers always stigmatized. The field is right for reaping."


It's a late night tonight. The coffee, the coversation, the cigarettes, and the late night our prelude my inner workings towards dream-starved nights of sleep again. Translation: bad sleeper. You've got to give props to the english language for its constant ability to outdo itself over and over and over.

So I once worked this telemarketing job. Apart from the, of course, depressing presence that it is to be working at such a place, (for those of you who have) it had its little wobbly bits that made it extra shitty, but slightly humorous. First of all, I sold over the phone (of course) these little things called "Shopping Spree Cards" and they were titled by the city they were sold in. Anyways, you get blah, blah, blah something like $2 to $3,ooo in goods and services for the small fee of only about $65. I don't care to recall too much of this place, because then I will just and rant and rave about a million different instances that would better be experienced than told, and as you can already tell, I can't tell a story for shit. Anyways, I'm thinking of a specific instance one time while working there upon going over some old notes I made on a little pad I had used while I was there.
We had this manager, fresh into the company, that used to sell cleaner or some bullshit, and the big boss some him doing his thing on the streets one day and approached him, asking, "Son, how do you sell so much of that stuff?" Blah, blah, blah, they hit it off like a couple of girlfriends and the bossman just had to have him working for him. This magician of sales went by the name of TJ. Dumb fuck of a name, if you ask me. I mean, I guess the guy can't really help it, but I'm sure "TJ" stands for something much more practical. All those sales assholes always like shorter names. I guess they think its hip or something. SO TJ comes on the scene, fresh off the streets, telling us all this new, amazing shit that is going to double our sales and get us excited about our growth potential. Well, after many lofty speeches and all that crap, we got back down to selling, only we had a few alterations to the routine. Everytime we made a sale, we were bade to ring this little bell and yell, "JUICE!" as a sort of inspiration to the rest of the whoring herd of jabber-mouthed pushers. J.U.I.C.E. stood for Join Us In Creating Enthusiasm. How. Fucking. Stupid. Everytime, and this motherfucker would monitor us to make sure we said it. Shortly after this incident I decided it was decided that my time was over with this fair firm of the phone. One day I walked into his office and plainly said, "Hey TJ, I gotta tell ya, I don't really think this whole telemarketing business isn't my thing, so I'm going to go ahead and mosey my ass on outta here." I quit, and it was glorious. But... That wasn't really the best part of it all. The best part was that about a month later I found out that the bossman's golden boy, the prodigal salesman, Mr. TJ had been using the company's computers to operate about a hundred different pornographic websites while working there and keeping everyone JUICE'D. Glorious. Of course he was fired.

That's the telemarketing story. I told you I can't tell stories for shit. If anyone else had told it it would probably have been a regular riot. I'm more of an improv sort of fella. Ah well, strong suits, right?

I am still entirely too wired from the coffee and what not, so I'm going to rock back and forth in my chair for about half an hour, kick my shoes off, and take that long lay-down into dreamland, dancing in with tap shoes and tapestries of atop my tepid thoughtpool brain-spout. If you can disect that one I'll give you a cookie for being cooky. Get it? Ha. Ha. Ha.


Goodnightalready.

Monday, December 04, 2006

Two Little Bits From Somewhere Back There...

Too long have the nights,
Like crystallized structures
Burned sorrow in my eyes.

Too long have the days,
As listless and fruitless
Hardened my innocent ways.

My body slowly settled,
Comfortable in such bones
As those that never meddle.

My heart, so nearly conquered,
Every moment giving way to
The love that’s not been offered.

Well time presumes me well,
Measuring and shaping such
A comfortable hell.

-------------------------------------------------------

*Personally, this one fucks with my head a bit, at how true it sometimes feels. Yikes.



Hypocrisy is in my heart.
You’re not that lover,
I was the one to play that part.
I am only truly tragic.
For every kiss, (that gracious step towards heaven)
I let you down.

Tonight I see myself transparent.
No words would do so much justice as a tear.
Nothing floods my eyes but my own loathsome reflection.
I pierce my heart with hints of your scent;
I pierce my heart with my own words,
Trying to kill all of myself that’s been left behind this wreckage.

You’re like the rain.
And not some simple simile, I say.
You’re full; you pour down on me, all over me,
My soul is already drowned, my dear.
You and me, you and me, we lost that sense.
You’re breaking up inside,
You must not be so down.
For I’m not well; I only apparently know how to ruin good things.
If everything I touch, I break,
Then I’ll never touch again.
I’ll ride that empty darkness;
Claim it as my only council.
Never ever let my heart again be shown to anyone.
I’ll never speak.
I’ll barely breathe.
I’ll lock these things so far away that no one will remember who I use to be.

If love comes passing by,
I’ll run from it until my heart won’t beat.
I never meant to hurt you...



*The former is fairly recent; maybe a few months ago. The latter is much, much older, say, three or four years ago. It is somewhat aparrent that my life has been slowly spiraling downward. Well bravo! Let's welcome this descent with drinks all around! Drink up, comrades. Drink to morrow's bad tidings.