In another life
we could've been rockstars.
But this is not that life.
Far from, in fact --
I'm just a poor banker's son.
I've got the keys to the car,
but I don't know where I'm going.
Labored breathing
keeps me bound to the bedroom.
And I don't eat
as much as I did
when I was young and hungry.
I'm pulling back the shades,
but never sleep when I'm angry.
Counting blue jays
from the trunk of my car.
But I keep spacing out
and losing track.
I force myself to start again.
Forgetting every conversation
that I have ever had.
Wanted to be a doctor,
so I could hang frames on the wall.
But I left in the rust,
withdrew my name
from office registries.
I broke through every cabinet.
Can I borrow twenty dollars?
I was offshore
for a while but I landed back here.
With a harpoon grabbed from
the hallway closet.
A handmade truth said: The Spine Is Mine.
I found some willing men
and hunted down a white whale.
We heard crickets
and both felt foolish for a while.
On a fire escape
with a bottle of rum,
we wished that we could talk of that town.
I'm an ideas man.
You're the pretty language and meaning.
Flashing lights
replacing smoke and city heat.
We lost our keys,
we searched our pockets deep.
And left the house with an axe to grind.
Not believing for a while.
But I want us believing the same thing.
Holding tongues
is not that hard to do.
Wrote my dissertation
on the art of
knowing when to.
Sometimes a boy is better.
Better seen than heard.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Distance, Part Three: Into the Woods
(see: "Bargaining".)
(see also: Into the Woods - 3 January 2011)
(see also: Into the Woods - 3 January 2011)
Distance, Part Two: Chirping (On Camera)
They moved their cars into the street, so they could practice in the driveway. Making sacrifices as a group project. We prayed for snow and slipped away. Back at your house you said that we couldn't sleep in the same bed...but we could share the same room and air. I've settled for less before, I said. So I fell asleep at eight that night, so I could wake back up at ten. To say I got a good night's sleep. To say I shut the engines down.
And I was dreaming of falling down a lightly dusted snow-covered staircase. When I stood again, I saw the messy/violent/imprinted angel and she was crying.
I stayed on the floor until I heard birds, then I climbed into your bed. We pretended we had stayed that way all night. We pretended nobody knew. Now shake the ashes from the tray, and wrangle all the bottles up. But when the hardwoods prove too cold for you, you can always hop back into bed. And I said: If for some reason you change your mind, it's okay. We can reschedule to a day that suits you better. When you're feeling at your best.
But we won't tell him, 'cos that would cause trouble with a capital T. So keep this secret like you keep our baby safe. Close to the vest.
Now, I don't scare easily but I startle like a leaf. So please, don't tease me when I'm filling up the sink. And what's it matter when there's matters here of trysts and conviction? I'm a scholar married to a corporate lawyer in Sherman Oaks, California. And when it rains and it thunders? We meet as one, under covers. So take your phone off the receiver and put it back when you leave here.
And I was dreaming of falling down a lightly dusted snow-covered staircase. When I stood again, I saw the messy/violent/imprinted angel and she was crying.
I stayed on the floor until I heard birds, then I climbed into your bed. We pretended we had stayed that way all night. We pretended nobody knew. Now shake the ashes from the tray, and wrangle all the bottles up. But when the hardwoods prove too cold for you, you can always hop back into bed. And I said: If for some reason you change your mind, it's okay. We can reschedule to a day that suits you better. When you're feeling at your best.
But we won't tell him, 'cos that would cause trouble with a capital T. So keep this secret like you keep our baby safe. Close to the vest.
Now, I don't scare easily but I startle like a leaf. So please, don't tease me when I'm filling up the sink. And what's it matter when there's matters here of trysts and conviction? I'm a scholar married to a corporate lawyer in Sherman Oaks, California. And when it rains and it thunders? We meet as one, under covers. So take your phone off the receiver and put it back when you leave here.
Distance, Part One: Coquette
I watch your feathers float
from the spare bedroom
and spill out into the hall.
I want to set you on the mantle.
Can I push the ringlets on your
cheek behind your ear,
if that's alright?
It's my favorite place to live.
I hear your silver voice
leaking from your mouth
and carving through the walls.
Must I lock it with the jewelry?
You've got the tidiest and the
jauntiest little figure
I've ever seen.
You control the games of forfeit.
You dream of a thrill not known.
Of a passion that you
can't imagine.
And a life that plays upon a stage.
And you think the worst of me
'cos I sneak around
trying to steal your oranges.
A man, he needs his vitamins.
You might find me boring but
I don't care. I don't care.
I don't care. I don't care.
from the spare bedroom
and spill out into the hall.
I want to set you on the mantle.
Can I push the ringlets on your
cheek behind your ear,
if that's alright?
It's my favorite place to live.
I hear your silver voice
leaking from your mouth
and carving through the walls.
Must I lock it with the jewelry?
You've got the tidiest and the
jauntiest little figure
I've ever seen.
You control the games of forfeit.
You dream of a thrill not known.
Of a passion that you
can't imagine.
And a life that plays upon a stage.
And you think the worst of me
'cos I sneak around
trying to steal your oranges.
A man, he needs his vitamins.
You might find me boring but
I don't care. I don't care.
I don't care. I don't care.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Distance: An Introduction
The Stages of Distance
1. The distance is denied: "No Distance lives here, you must have the wrong number."
2. The distance is realized: "Huh...I wonder what that look meant."
3. The distance is bargained with: "How about one hour? Twenty minutes?"
4. The distance is accepted: "The time has come for drinking and crying and singing 'I Started A Joke' at karaoke."
You may be asking yourself, Gentle Reader, what is distance? And how do I know if I have it or not? To answer the second question first, shut up. To answer the first question very indirectly, read on. Below are examples of statements/problems/occurrences that have passed across my desk, illustrating situations where distance is questioned. I have also provided answers. Confused yet? I hope so.
I have lost my child (in WalMart):
No.
I have lost my child (to The Suicide Life):
Yes.
That ketchup is near that salt shaker:
Really?
I can hear your heart:
Almost.
I can feel your heart:
Too much.
I am your heart:
Right on the nose.
I drove past your house today:
More information, please.
I drove past your house today and I was playing that mix you made for me. And when I neared your mailbox I had the vision of me rolling out of the car and letting it crash into the side of your house underneath the window where your parents sleep. I didn't, of course. But at the same time, I had another vision that you were getting the mail and saw me, so I stopped to say hello. And I told you I was in the neighborhood (which you didn't believe but accepted anyway,) and we decided to go for a drink...somewhere close because you had to be in work by eight the next morning. A drink turned into two, two into several. The early evening turned into night and a friendly drink turned into hands and lips and The Coasters' "Down In Mexico" and moist foreheads and everything was flashbulbs and grainy film footage. We locked, visited old haunts and places we used to love. You cried after, before you went to sleep, and told me that you weren't sad. You didn't know what you were. The next morning, you kissed me long on the mouth and dressed slowly, and told me that you were glad we could use each other. That was the end of the vision as I drove past your house:
You get it. You get it completely, you sad son of a bitch. Now come here if you're in need of comfort, of warmth, of making the space seem smaller for a moment.
1. The distance is denied: "No Distance lives here, you must have the wrong number."
2. The distance is realized: "Huh...I wonder what that look meant."
3. The distance is bargained with: "How about one hour? Twenty minutes?"
4. The distance is accepted: "The time has come for drinking and crying and singing 'I Started A Joke' at karaoke."
You may be asking yourself, Gentle Reader, what is distance? And how do I know if I have it or not? To answer the second question first, shut up. To answer the first question very indirectly, read on. Below are examples of statements/problems/occurrences that have passed across my desk, illustrating situations where distance is questioned. I have also provided answers. Confused yet? I hope so.
I have lost my child (in WalMart):
No.
I have lost my child (to The Suicide Life):
Yes.
That ketchup is near that salt shaker:
Really?
I can hear your heart:
Almost.
I can feel your heart:
Too much.
I am your heart:
Right on the nose.
I drove past your house today:
More information, please.
I drove past your house today and I was playing that mix you made for me. And when I neared your mailbox I had the vision of me rolling out of the car and letting it crash into the side of your house underneath the window where your parents sleep. I didn't, of course. But at the same time, I had another vision that you were getting the mail and saw me, so I stopped to say hello. And I told you I was in the neighborhood (which you didn't believe but accepted anyway,) and we decided to go for a drink...somewhere close because you had to be in work by eight the next morning. A drink turned into two, two into several. The early evening turned into night and a friendly drink turned into hands and lips and The Coasters' "Down In Mexico" and moist foreheads and everything was flashbulbs and grainy film footage. We locked, visited old haunts and places we used to love. You cried after, before you went to sleep, and told me that you weren't sad. You didn't know what you were. The next morning, you kissed me long on the mouth and dressed slowly, and told me that you were glad we could use each other. That was the end of the vision as I drove past your house:
You get it. You get it completely, you sad son of a bitch. Now come here if you're in need of comfort, of warmth, of making the space seem smaller for a moment.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Bang bang, babydoll.
We used to know what our homes sounded like.
They spoke in a way not entirely unfamiliar
to us, like a lullaby. We were gently rocked
to sleep.
Now there is a branch and it scratch
scratch scratches against my window and you can't sleep
when you dream of monsters from 1953.
You want me to trim the part that hits
the vinyl siding. And I think that I may.
'Cos you reach for me in the night, to say:
Is this part of you? Am I touching a piece?
And I laugh and tell you: Yes. You are.
There is a beaten path through the woods
that I used to picnic upon -- and it was good.
Mind the ants and bears, they just want
a tiny treat. Something nice to eat.
You talk to me and there is lightning shooting
from your bones and the skin stretched across
them is smooth. A kind of perfect, but
you know I hate labels. We, the collective,
like the idea of the puzzle when it's naked
and warm and pressed together. A bed
that misses the company. But I haven't decided
who is on my pint glass.
Even as the words come out, I imagine
an amalgamate, and I laugh at the last
four letters. 'Cos that's all anyone wants, right?
To be like O'Hara, without the dune buggy?
To be unapologetically vain and wild and fucking
brutal?! To say "I've read your words about me
and I want to buy you a wedding!" Or maybe just
a cup of coffee and a room for the night. Do you see
that this is what happens at three a.m.? Menacing
every love we've ever known for hours? Not with
the phone call. Or the letter. Or the song. But with
the pining. The file folders. Our attempts at charm.
I have tried to love your god, and I have tried to love
your family. I have tried to eat your cooking and have
tried to stop your sadness, but I am not a man.
I am a child with a gun permit. Bang bang, babydoll.
Did I give you a nickname unique? Did I give you a song
to sing in the shower or on your long drive
back to the countryside? Did I tell you I loved you?
Did I then eat your heart? Save the remnants
for the collection? 'Cos I'm a hoarder, even with,
ESPECIALLY with words. And I don't know
when to stop, or how. Like the vague
confession, it means nothing. To start well-
meaning. To wear the white cape
and to talk on the telephone late.
I am a creature of habit. I am a sorry
lie. But I can still make you laugh.
They spoke in a way not entirely unfamiliar
to us, like a lullaby. We were gently rocked
to sleep.
Now there is a branch and it scratch
scratch scratches against my window and you can't sleep
when you dream of monsters from 1953.
You want me to trim the part that hits
the vinyl siding. And I think that I may.
'Cos you reach for me in the night, to say:
Is this part of you? Am I touching a piece?
And I laugh and tell you: Yes. You are.
There is a beaten path through the woods
that I used to picnic upon -- and it was good.
Mind the ants and bears, they just want
a tiny treat. Something nice to eat.
You talk to me and there is lightning shooting
from your bones and the skin stretched across
them is smooth. A kind of perfect, but
you know I hate labels. We, the collective,
like the idea of the puzzle when it's naked
and warm and pressed together. A bed
that misses the company. But I haven't decided
who is on my pint glass.
Even as the words come out, I imagine
an amalgamate, and I laugh at the last
four letters. 'Cos that's all anyone wants, right?
To be like O'Hara, without the dune buggy?
To be unapologetically vain and wild and fucking
brutal?! To say "I've read your words about me
and I want to buy you a wedding!" Or maybe just
a cup of coffee and a room for the night. Do you see
that this is what happens at three a.m.? Menacing
every love we've ever known for hours? Not with
the phone call. Or the letter. Or the song. But with
the pining. The file folders. Our attempts at charm.
I have tried to love your god, and I have tried to love
your family. I have tried to eat your cooking and have
tried to stop your sadness, but I am not a man.
I am a child with a gun permit. Bang bang, babydoll.
Did I give you a nickname unique? Did I give you a song
to sing in the shower or on your long drive
back to the countryside? Did I tell you I loved you?
Did I then eat your heart? Save the remnants
for the collection? 'Cos I'm a hoarder, even with,
ESPECIALLY with words. And I don't know
when to stop, or how. Like the vague
confession, it means nothing. To start well-
meaning. To wear the white cape
and to talk on the telephone late.
I am a creature of habit. I am a sorry
lie. But I can still make you laugh.
Monday, February 21, 2011
No Man Shall Be Ranked
No man shall be ranked.
We changed the "will" to "shall"
'cos we like gravitas. We dig
the shit out of it. They (men) shall sharpen
their skiis. Sharpen their skies.
The words are similar, aren't they?
No man shall be ranked,
the words are close enough. Almost,
like horseshoes and hand soap.
Or is it handshakes? Wait, wait. Let's get
over this. I even bore myself.
I could bore you too, if you'd like.
No man shall be ranked
until they tear that mountain down.
Until the rings are polished
on the sleeves of a tuxedo jacket.
We changed the "will" to "shall"
'cos we like gravitas. We dig
the shit out of it. They (men) shall sharpen
their skiis. Sharpen their skies.
The words are similar, aren't they?
No man shall be ranked,
the words are close enough. Almost,
like horseshoes and hand soap.
Or is it handshakes? Wait, wait. Let's get
over this. I even bore myself.
I could bore you too, if you'd like.
No man shall be ranked
until they tear that mountain down.
Until the rings are polished
on the sleeves of a tuxedo jacket.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
An Apartment of Deer
Three women with whom I've lain beside contacted me in a two week span. There was a surprise, an expectation, a mystery. We spoke of belts/hiking/Jesus Christ, but not necessarily in that order. No, no...we keep it loose. It's cool, it's calm, it's whatever.
Do we speak of the past?
Is the future more appropriate?
We don't have the answers. Not now, at least.
I feel the need to weekend in Cape Cod and walk along the stormy coast underneath the rainclouds. Hunting the ghosts of better days. 'Cos it's clear now that "better" means "more entertaining", right? More harmful to the body but less to the mind? Just so we know, so we're on the same page. My thumbs hurt almost as much as my index fingers, 'cos I ripped twelve-hundred pieces of tape yesterday, causing a god damn American-Vietnamese conflict. Understudying my role, is all. The problems remain the same..
Do we drown spectres? How about spectators?
Or do we invite them into our homes/beds/empty chests?
These are the questions we need answered:
In text messages. Mailed packages. Worn book jacktes.
Do we speak of the past?
Is the future more appropriate?
We don't have the answers. Not now, at least.
I feel the need to weekend in Cape Cod and walk along the stormy coast underneath the rainclouds. Hunting the ghosts of better days. 'Cos it's clear now that "better" means "more entertaining", right? More harmful to the body but less to the mind? Just so we know, so we're on the same page. My thumbs hurt almost as much as my index fingers, 'cos I ripped twelve-hundred pieces of tape yesterday, causing a god damn American-Vietnamese conflict. Understudying my role, is all. The problems remain the same..
Do we drown spectres? How about spectators?
Or do we invite them into our homes/beds/empty chests?
These are the questions we need answered:
In text messages. Mailed packages. Worn book jacktes.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Job Interview
First off, we'd like to welcome you to the team. We've been reviewing your application and we must say you are quite the catch.
Your hobbies and extra curriculars imply that you are vaguely sexual and strangely literal, two things we look for in a prospective employee. Your dress implies that you care very little about your appearance, but we all know that it takes you ten...no, twenty minutes to dress in the morning. And the hair! When it's not styled like Jimmy Neutron, it looks like you have recently suffered a mental breakdown. Again, a giant plus sign in our book.
You show emotion and excitement, not for the future or current relationships, but for procedural dramas and works of flash fiction. This inability to connect with the "real world" ranks you high among our applicants. Looking through your iPod (which you have generously included with your resume,) we see that you fancy a wide selection of music: random bands prominently featured in cult movies/television shows, folk rock meant for leaving home, pop-punk from the late nineties, and Bob Dylan (for propriety's sake, naturally.)
We like all of this and would like you to come work for us. Do you have any questions for us? Yes, you will make enough to pay rent and buy that whiskey you like. And yes, you will get dental...we know how important those teeth are to you and your mother.
Your hobbies and extra curriculars imply that you are vaguely sexual and strangely literal, two things we look for in a prospective employee. Your dress implies that you care very little about your appearance, but we all know that it takes you ten...no, twenty minutes to dress in the morning. And the hair! When it's not styled like Jimmy Neutron, it looks like you have recently suffered a mental breakdown. Again, a giant plus sign in our book.
You show emotion and excitement, not for the future or current relationships, but for procedural dramas and works of flash fiction. This inability to connect with the "real world" ranks you high among our applicants. Looking through your iPod (which you have generously included with your resume,) we see that you fancy a wide selection of music: random bands prominently featured in cult movies/television shows, folk rock meant for leaving home, pop-punk from the late nineties, and Bob Dylan (for propriety's sake, naturally.)
We like all of this and would like you to come work for us. Do you have any questions for us? Yes, you will make enough to pay rent and buy that whiskey you like. And yes, you will get dental...we know how important those teeth are to you and your mother.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Come back, cloud
The one I love is dying in a hotel room. The one I love is dying in a western world. I can save you, or I can erase you. But there is nothing I can do to stop the day. Come back, cloud. Come back. The one I love is temporary. Is hind-sighted. Is a memory child. But I can lose you, or I could loosen you up. But there is nothing I can do to fill my time. Come back, cloud. Come back.
I play the game of guessing alliances now. I could suss out the details, though it may take a few days. I can invite you, or I could freeze you out, but there is nothing I can do to dent the sky. Come back, cloud. Come back. I can touch myself to please you and I can sink much deeper than usual. But there is nothing I can do to change the score. Come back, cloud. Come back.
I play the game of guessing alliances now. I could suss out the details, though it may take a few days. I can invite you, or I could freeze you out, but there is nothing I can do to dent the sky. Come back, cloud. Come back. I can touch myself to please you and I can sink much deeper than usual. But there is nothing I can do to change the score. Come back, cloud. Come back.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Neon Parade
Let's take this god damn show on the road!
Making trumpet noises with our mouths
is not as hard as it looks, but it is as fun.
Making trumpet noises with our mouths
is not as hard as it looks, but it is as fun.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
New Again
Like Magellan, I thought I had found a home. It turned out to be a different piece of land. I traded in my busy bed, a quiet house in the country, for stability. Concrete-like and solid. The trade was ill advised, I know this now.
I spent the last week in a humming room killing myself. Not The Suicide Life -- don't misunderstand me. Not a bloody, haunting symbolism with bathtubs and an empty pill bottle. But a reworking of life in its current state.
The get-up has never been washed, never hung outside to dry. But what was underneath was not the problem. The past self had it all right, with walls of beautiful minds and watching the sun rise during the dead time of the year.
Why can't we be like we were? I was thinner then, had more hair then. The funds were lower, but I didn't come so quickly. A complete lack of care. Even the nights spent staring at the tiger painting, weeping into my seven and soda.
We should all kill ourselves more often. 'Cos it's not about death, baby. I'm not about that scene. It's all about the violent change now, the kind that guts houses and car interiors and closets and empty chests.
I spent the last week in a humming room killing myself. Not The Suicide Life -- don't misunderstand me. Not a bloody, haunting symbolism with bathtubs and an empty pill bottle. But a reworking of life in its current state.
The get-up has never been washed, never hung outside to dry. But what was underneath was not the problem. The past self had it all right, with walls of beautiful minds and watching the sun rise during the dead time of the year.
Why can't we be like we were? I was thinner then, had more hair then. The funds were lower, but I didn't come so quickly. A complete lack of care. Even the nights spent staring at the tiger painting, weeping into my seven and soda.
We should all kill ourselves more often. 'Cos it's not about death, baby. I'm not about that scene. It's all about the violent change now, the kind that guts houses and car interiors and closets and empty chests.
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