Sunday, October 31, 2010


Janis, what shall I call you. Like some men are called Tall, Drinks, of Water, I still haven't really learned the meaning of that saying, nor am I applicable for such high remarks, I will call you a tower too high to climb. And Janis, even though your name isn't Janis, and even though these words will come short of your ears, as lovely as they are, I will call you that Tower.
From here, I stand and say from here, and with my feet together I look over the edge and throw pennies down. I see people walking, alive I see them, and I know of the consequences, I know if one of these pennies were to hit just one of them I'd go to jail for manslaughter, but this isn't just any day, and these aren't just any kind of pennies. Today is my day, it is the day I reached the top, where I scaled to a height where I can finally admire the city we live in. Wow!, there's a park over there, and holy moly!, there's diner there, an actual oldschool grease-till-you-stop diner, no way, yes way! Above, high, and mounted with my crotch to the back of your head, with my legs resting over your breasts, and your arms wrapped around my ankles, I see a new world, I am high, yes, I am so out of my mind, yes, and I am in the right place (yes). I think: can't you see how amazing this is, she thinks: can't he feel how heavy he is for something so small. I feel empowered, she feels overwhelmed. I don't ever want to leave, and she is waiting for my decent from the Heavens.
The weight of the world is on our shoulders I whisper into your ear, and you smile, laugh, and lose your balance. We fall, not just from our feet, but we fall off the earth, we float while falling at frightenly-fast speeds into space, there are no stars, just void, and I reach to you, and for some reason, I am fine. You're screaming, and I let your screams fill my ears until I hear the threshold of a piercing pitch. In a violent reflex I grab you by your shoulders, I shake you once, I shake you twice, and I hold you deep and dearly, and with my muscles I tell you, everything is going to be alright.


The truth is, even though your feet are on solid earth right now, we're still falling. We will never be safe. But at least we'll be safer with each other.

Monday, October 25, 2010

Learning To Love Yourself (More) pt. 16

(For Alex K (the picture, well maybe the words, but it's really meant for everyone, unlike the picture, it's really only for him, sorry, I'm not being an ass, he just really likes cows, and I think he's really great, in fact, you should check him out, not that it will ever substitute him, I'm just saying), 2010)

Sooner or Later

In time, even the devil gets tired. Imagine working day and night (though I think hell only has nights, and those nights are probably pretty well-lit by fires and stuff, which would appear like day), torturing souls, without end, I mean, that's a lot of work, even with a dark army of spiky red minions. Eventually, even the devil has to take a break, and when that happens, God only knows, but what probably happens is; he half-assly asks of his slaves of eternity to torture themselves for the day, week, maybe but not very likely, month. And at this point, the devil isn't this really scary dude you read about in the bible (or maybe you never read the bible, but you definitely heard a few good stories about some evil shit going down). The devil eventually turns into the worst boss ever, and he seems more human everyday. You start to notice he's also balding, and how he occasionally smiles when he gets your blood in his month, or how he is always looking off through his window to the Aboveworld, holding his head by his palm, endless staring and blowing smoky sighs. Hey, you tell yourself, he's not soo bad after all, and then he beats you with a fiery stick covered in bees, and you go, ouch!, but you live since you're immortal, no matter how hard he beats you, and you live long enough to even forget the devil is the devil.
There will be a day that this world isn't so hard, that sure you're still getting beaten down by demons, but it's not so bad, as you pick yourself up, and continue to live. And in all of this mess you call your life, you reach a point where there is hope, to spite all the darkness and blood-sweating walls that surround your everyday, you are relieved for a moment, and you remember something you forgot all about, you can taste it, and this taste sparks a charge of memory, that's it, you think, that is it, oh yes my boy (or girl), that this is what it feels to be in the good, to feel relieved, and just maybe, you are happy. Filled with jellybeans and honey, with powdered sugar lips that concave to all the stress and torment drooling out of your mouth. You are smiling now, donut feel good? and you tell yourself, yes, it does.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Ghostly About You

(The Genius of Solitude (1836), 2010)

You walked out that door. I left you before you did me. It was nice meeting you too. Walk away. I think I had my hands in my pockets, I was probably looking down, yes, there's my shoes, they're moving now. The carpet looks like it always does, the Rorschach stain tells me I'm always safe, and then the wooden floor panels tell me I am alone again. The music is mute, the phone is ringing, and I can hear fans running air through a machine. I sit down, without words, I look back. Without thoughts, I look back. You're still there.
There is a calm in the wind, it isn't cold. I think of metal twisting in a hot Australian summer, I think of the faces of millions, melting, with wavy heat waves in the air. I think of a time that doesn't exist, where the people are wearing suits and hats, sunglasses with wings, and studded edges. I think of the world moving by me slow, and slowly, with smoke and smog, flashes lasting longer than frictions, and the buzz and vibration of a mechanical monster. They call this home, they call this place haven.
One by one the steel folds back like banana skin, the core is revealed, and inside there are little ant-size people scurrying appliances and papers into holes. I think madness, I think of it all as chaos. I stand farther back, and I see the shapes of things, and what I see first is not what I see last. A face emerges, made of countless people in movement, beams of metal, of cars and trucks passing by, and concrete and shadow. I looked closer without moving my feet towards this odyssey, and what did I see.
The door closes, a couple of leaves enter, and I don't even notice. The sun is right, there is a sudden gust, and a man trips across the street. You are gone.