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10:39pm 04/04/2006
It was scary how you made me cower,
In the corner, on the floor.
Your eyes were so calm that
A thousand tiny pins flew out of them
Crushing into my soul.
Where I had expected to receive blessings.
My words stew your juices up,
And make you send back rage
Gripping the cushions of the couch,
Choking them instead of me.
I wasn’t trying to strike a match,
Nor light a fire, inside of you
Making you burn and singe.
I was simply trying to explain
My soul and all its bells and whistles.

I’m not steering into the breaks and drifts,
As I cruise through the fast lane not holding the wheel,
The ruts in the road making me shift through the lanes,
And my pistons smoking like the tip of a cigarette.

One set of toes smashed into the driver side floor
Squishing into the plastic floor carpet
The other wrapping their tips over the pedal
As a pint of whiskey tosses back and forth in my lap

This is my indecision
I’ve let go of choices.
I’m dreaming of the barracuda
But driving the pinto.

But these seats are not worn,
The white walls are all out,
The frame is not bent,
The sides painted with no rust,
At least in my mind.

As I swerve past a lady,
On her cell phone,
Who drops her coffee,
And yanks up the wheel.

I take a shot from the bottle,
A drag from the smoke,
The taste burning on my lips.

Like the kisses I had
That night in the fog
Of magic and excitement,
Liquor and freedom,
The night that was perfect.
That I try to forge
I asked you to stop
But you couldn’t
And I would if I could
But I can’t either.

Not to get you out of my mind,
And heart,

Or to get off the road.
I laugh as a man quits singing
Songs of the boss,
At the top of his lungs,
And brakes and veers right.
Leaving strips burned rubber across the blacktop road.

Today in the world
Bombs strike
Time goes on.

People shop for houses
With interest rates so low
Becoming investment tycoons.

I can become perfection
And lose 10lbs in ten days
And look like the after picture.

I can have better sex
For longer times frames
And with more vigor.
I can find myself
And discover Jesus
For $50 dollars

I can fulfill all my dreams
They are out there,
I just have to click through
Enough offers to get to them.

Someone blew dust across the skyline,
Making it muted and blurred.

The edges of reality are melding,
In time and perception
By this haze that covers all vision.

I strain my eyes,
Feeling a pull from the back of my brain.

I see nothing but pea soup,
Dust from the sandman
That cuddles things out of my touch.

I can not handle it,
This lack of connectivity between forms.

Oh! Where is the world I knew!?
Filled with trees and bold hues?
Covered by a rainless mist,
Hidden, like a secret.


I am always making mountains
Out of dust motes

Climbing rungs of splintered wood

Here is your garden.
I am your soil,
Tend me.
Tend me.

Reap forth bounty.

I am a mote,
And like such
I cower.
I cower.

Under the bed,
In the corner,
Out of brooms reach.

Dancing at the shredding bristles.

I grow older,
Making new angles,
Hour glasses,
Or bulges,
Illiatic curves,
Cellulite arcs.

I weather.
Smooth ocular surfaces,
Under my suns,
Grow ridges,

My ideals.
My dreams,
Turning inside,
Their cranial form,
Bubble gum in a blender,
Dancing like the Irish,
Striking like a storm,
Never calm,
Never low tide,
Never still.

I am always making mountains
Out of dust motes.


Sheathing and unsheathing yourself like a glove
Am I something you discard or do you find a home
And a peaceful fire?
04:14am 05/04/2005
  Seven chapters.
Twenty Seven pages.
Three hundred and ninety-four paragraphs.
My six page short story has seduced me.
It won't let me go.
What started out as a joke.
In the vein of the old serials,
A la 'The Three Musketeers'.
It's turned into a beautiful beast.
And it's consuming me.
I'm so in love.
Kiss me and make it true.
This is a beautiful piece.
Sex death love demons angels,
deception corruption truth
v e n g e a n c e.

so beautiful.
it'll be coming soon.
for all and none to read.
i'm in love.
i've been seduced.
by the words on a page.

to write is to think
to think is to create
to create is to be god
let's all be holy
if only for this second.

ha! beautiful, my friends.
this is something beautiful
in all it's ugliness,
it's gnarled deformity.
you'll see, and you'll be in love, too.

"i'm not afraid."
"O! You will be."
Luke & Yoda . Empire
05:49pm 28/03/2005
  I find it funny how writing becomes more an obession for most writers and less fun. It is almost like you have to vomit it out, and can be quite painful at times, yet there is a relief and satisfaction when you do.

I take great joy in my writing but I hate it so much sometimes. Yet I feel I have to, less my brain burst.
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06:27pm 25/02/2005
  I also think i want to write a story where the city is as much a character as the people. i've considered it before, years ago... even started it a few times. but never finished... a few pages, and it went away. i don't know... not quite sure. a bit unsure of myself at the moment. i might just take the main idea i have, and incorporate it into flood. not quite sure. i'm also planning on a serial sort of novel, a la The Three Musketeers. not the style or subject, just written that way. in installments. a chapter a week is what i have planned in my head, posted every friday. but since no one has noticed this journal, it'd be kind of silly and pointless. only for my own enjoyment. much like my writing in general, but none the less. we'll see how it all pans out, after i sleep on the subject, which i'm going to do now. and that's how the cookie crook crumbles. got it? :D  
02:41am 23/02/2005
mood: amused
so... there's a story idea in me...
a possessed television, a la Stephen King's Christine [yeah, it was a car, but whatever.] and this television would do what the idiot box does... but, more literal... eat the brain. devour it. suck it right the fuck out. and maybe that'll be Intermission Two... probably not. probably just a few pages i'll throw down here, soon. maybe even tonight.