Massive outpouring Before death!!

(The sky is a ghostly black, and I feel like a remnant of the past.)

#1. Where are all the Poets?

Are there twenty-something year olds out there who have sold their soul to the art? who are constantly careful, crafting their words? with immense aspirations, dreams that breath, that gravitize, I want to meet you, I want to write with you, I want to write to you, I want to get hammered drunk with you, I want to go on the road with you, I want to see your future unfold. I feel lonely and I don't understand myself very well. (help me help you help me help you help me help you help me help you love me love you etc.)

#2. I See All my actions in Third Person (what is that in the mirror)

I have a inner conscious that has split itself into three: the reflective self, the confused stranger, the overseer. Reflective self thinks on behalf of the body, sorts through today's memories, as well as yesterday's and all of the past. He has a lot of folders to deal with and they never stop coming in--he is overworked and subsequently fucks up a lot. Confused stranger looks upon my body, and wonders what this body is thinking about, what the hell is it doing, it looks sad, it looks bored. The overseer tries to bring these previous two together, tries to account for both of their thoughts, and then tries to give me a plan on how I can grow and become wiser, smarter, etc. The overseer is mostly a lazy asshole--he doesn't much give a shit, and so Reflective self and Confused stranger remain at odds.

(eg. I look towards the sky, I see myself looking at the sky, I wonder what that human is doing, I search for a greater meaning, a "why" question and then an answer, and instead I move on with my life, forgetting that this ever happened)

#3. the Thing about God

I make deals with that thing (man? woman? alien? thing). Not because I want to. But because I have to. It will not leave my head (a world without a God? a meaningless existence wherein I don't give a shit about anything, or a world wherein I eventually enter psychosis from eternal illogical computation, or will I just embrace the world...am i doing that now?). So it creepy crawls about my cavernous caboose, I scream at it, and blame everything that I can never understand on it. It sets up balances in my head, says if you do this then I give you this, If you stop doing this then you get this. It plays tricks on me, it sometimes imitates the sound of my own inner voice, so that I cannot tell who is doing the talking. I don't want to talk about this anymore.

#4. My face is Dying

My bed is a grave. I etch-a-sketched dreams in my shoulder with my hands. I woke up with red on my hands, red on my covers. My body has terrible urges--when my conscious leaves, my body is a wolf licking the blood-soaked blade. My shoulder did not have a rash. but there is a rash eating up my face, and my unconscious hand leaps to it like horny teenagers, and i wake up in a sea of skin, and I think (confused stranger thinks), how gross how disgusting, and I store a little bits of frustration in my back pocket as I drag myself through a daily Monday Malaise. People in the world see traces of my demise, traces of my rebirth, my skin regenerating, spreading itself about the earth, and I am lost in transition and scaring away all the pretty girls.

#5. Happiness in Shared experience (being a stingy asshole closes all the doors)

I put shit in my body, I alter my state of existence, and I only want to take a trip with you (you!). You are tender and enchanting--you said something yesterday that really made me think, gave me a new perspective. I don't know you well enough, I haven't made up my mind about you, and so I can't stop thinking about you, I want to grow with you, and want to make something out of this.
I am sitting in my room, and I want to see through your eyes, I want to write about it and show it to you, I want to slaughter the leaden circles of time with the soft murmur of speakers, under ceilings, in this very room where the God of Karma, where the Confounded Stranger has condemned me! I could love this room, it could be like heaven.

#6. the Moon was there then it was Dead

I paid homage to the moon tonight, for Seattle skies rarely accommodate it. I turned off my lights and watched it slime across the sky. It left ugly trails in my head that faded quicker than my cognitive powers could function, and so I will never know what those bad feelings were that tonight's moon awoke.

The moon has left , will I ever see it again?

#7. Make your own way, Son

my step-grandfather wrote me a letter and included a hallmark inspirational quote:

Life itself cannot give you joy, unless you really will it. Life just gives you time and space, it's up to you to fill it

I was repulsed. Words from greeting cards that make a mockery of sincerity, that make profit on manufactured sentimentality! But Herbert is one of the sweetest and most humble grandparent I've ever encountered, and these were his words, these were his words, this was his handwriting,
and I am jaded, and I let Karma God reign as king, the fucker, and I need to grab life by the throat because I am young and agile and my thoughts race and fly with my body, with my pumping legs, I careen through sidewalks and fields, up buildings, up mountains, to shout from up high, to shout nonsense, to prove my existence, to prove that I have passion, that I am human. and as the sun is my witness I will take to the street burning under what mother said was heaven, and I will give love, I will give love as best I can, as weirdly as I can, as subtle as I can, as honestly as I can.

#8. Life Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow

Overseer wakes up, and does not know what to do, what to make of anything, doesn't know what decisions he has made, or which he has taken back, so he puts on headphones, and lights up his cigarette.



I am lost in education. (on page limit, on length)
I don't know anything about the world,
don't know what the fuck that is,
can't even comprehend what life will be like in 2 hours...

I am hanging dead for six hours:

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant---
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightening to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind---

i "waste" 4 hours like a drunkard.
i want to be looking for the road instead.
where is that lovely beast.

I have a poem on the internet here.


self-destructive; instructive

"I think you are waiting to self-combust. That way you could start fresh", read the text message, late into my binge. I was looking for beauty all around me. I found it almost everywhere, in everything I had, and everything I did not have.

I knew how the hours would soon run and sigh, would reveal...the truth? the ugliness? Is that the truth?

"I think you are waiting to self-combust. That way you could start fresh", read the text message. I had on my new eyes, my new eyes, old and melting, weary with passion. my heart in my mouth, blossoming like lilies, weeping, soothed by its own utterances, knowing, unknowing..

and my mind, that tragic man in his suit, traitorous and true, left his post to say
and what of tomorrow
and what of tomorrow...?
"I have gathered up my little sticks
to burn this fire, tonight", I retorted,
bold as liquid

now, on the down
i knew, i knew, i chose, of course
I am waiting to self-combust
i will start fresh
not even i will know my name

shanti shanti shanti


success. hip hip hooraguhghauhg..

i got a poem published in the online lit mag Nth Position right here.

I was pretty excited to see it there. to google myself and find that I have a growing internet presence/worldly significance. of course it did not last.

"You always want more, you're never happy with what you have"- father to kid is never happy with what he has

if you look at the poem, you'll see that I've fucked up all the punctuation and capitalization. It wasn't on purpose, but it wasn't on accident either. I was given an opportunity to edit it, but I didn't really care enough to change anything. I feel like it doesn't really matter. I feel like the meaning (whatever that is) is just as accessible (or inaccessible) with or without the small changes i would make if i was more OCD about grammar. Maybe I will feel differently once I actually have a "reputation".


oh, how each lamp adds light to light!

I'm tiring of this room.
i'm stuffing bad emotions in that lamp in the corner
i move it, that shade reminds me of
when i lost my mind
[my tears separated from my mind
my body convulsed, hurling chunks of my mind
my mind my mind was supine
it suspended itself, left my body
in cornflowers marred in ivory
i saw wavered,
i laughed
i cried
my mind
set me loose]

gracious lamp field hide me
the hipsters have all run away
they paint you, and your scarlet hues
fleeing vagabond avant garde
decadence burning burning burning their heels
to the mountains! if you have your beards about you
relevance is genetic,

you and me we are apart
and i am a part
you, the subterranean alien
to the light, to the...
what path? where is the path?

I will take the dimly glowing blue light
fluorescent, subtle sanity lacking sanity

my last lamp:
sideways upon the wall,
you are my dearest
and most feared enemy
you wait like a wolf upon my dreams
and no man has ever seen you
and no man ever will

Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.

the lights the lights will not lead me on my way
fiction, grab hold friction
faction misleading, fiction
truth: i am falling much farther into a den of lions
got on a pair of lucky boxers i think will do the trick

oh how each lamp adds light to light