25 November 2015

Zip-Tied

I moved into this shitty house
in a shitty neighborhood
alone, no furniture, a job I'd quickly grow to hate,
barely any friends.
On credit, I bought this
mint green bonded leather sofa
& ruminated
& sat bored, smoking weed, drinking & fighting
with numerous asshole boyfriends,
& (even worse) sat bored, sober & fighting
with those narcissistic douchebags.
Spilled coffee & beer & cigarette holes
& bodily fluids & odors
decorated the sofa.
A groove carved out where my ass sat
for over two years,
watching episode after episode of
Netflix
& my dramatic life unfold.
$2,000 I paid for that sofa.
We burned it when we burned our ghosts.
Happier now with our $10 patio chairs

zip-tied together.

04 September 2015

DrunkLovePoem

For all my CA friends and all my CA ex's.

I.

Drunk and keep catching you gazing at me,
you catch me gazing at you
and a smile is exchanged
a gin is ordered, sent to me.

I’m drinking the gin, thinking of you
and I look over to match your gaze once more—
staring down at your phone.
Wouldn’t look back up at me.

We met, fell in love, and broke up
in a one hour drunk love affair.

II.

To be 15 & fall in love w you again.
1st love of my life offed himself
after we chased Tullamore Dew
down a bad tunnel.

III.

Why fight genetics?
Mom was a CA (Canadian Mist),
both grandmas & grandpas (more likker).
So, fuck it. Where's the vodvod?
Komchatka $10/plastic handle
in a cup that says ‘Cup.’

Lip (from Shameless)= #1 love, future CA.
I thought T.V. & love & football &
cheap beer & Hamburger Helper &
love (lol) & life (el oh el) were evil...
when I thought life had value.

Does anything matter?
I guess the question to us is: what doesn't matter?
And that's why we're CA.
Or that's why I’m a CA.
Why are you?

Cirque de Anatman

I’m 150’ off the ground putting one foot in front of the other. Then the next foot, slowly, deliberately. My heart isn’t racing because I’ve acclimated. There’s no net to catch me if I fuck this stunt up—I will plummet down and land on a tiger or elephant or straight to the ground if I fuck this up. I’m only a quarter of the way across. This level of concentration is physically & mentally exhausting. The cheers & jeers saturating the atmosphere in this white-top don’t even enter my mind. No ear plugs. Halfway there. Heart rate 50 bpm, hands dry & steady. One thought penetrates and it’s 150’ dash to death. I hear one baby cry, gaze veers off course, which is currently straight ahead: broken ankles, fractured spine. Dead. These facts I know—3/4 way across—but the only thought I have is one foot at a time. Not even that—all that’s purged. Only thought—‘Forward.’ Even simpler. Peel away the last layer. That’s where I have to stay. Inside the molten core is where I am. Not even ‘I’. I might be 150’ up but my conscience is a hollow laser. Not a black hole. Neither something nor a sink. Until I reach the platform, the ‘acrobat’, the ‘absence’ of ‘me’ is putting one foot forward. Forward. Go. 0. .

100%. I’m not dead in the jaws of the tiger. I’ve made it again.

08 July 2015

Crunch

Maybe everything you
think
is bullshit
feel
is bullshit
maybe all this will
crunch
as quickly as it banged
so be in fear
that you tried to
improve
worked hard
avoided pleasure
persevered
did what they told you
& wasted your one chance
to do whatever the fuck you want
(within physical limitations)

FOR NOTHING.

Opossum

I’m opossum
in heat
scurrying to scavenge in alley
another opossum
impregnated me
I gave birth to
litter of three
didn’t smell right
so I ate them
then carried on
at dusk
walking along
looking for dead things
to eat on train track
I didn’t get away
in time
got hit by train
coyotes ate
my organs but left remains
rain, sleet, snow
fell
air got warmer
sun dried up
a lot of liquid
that was in my body
several trains
passed over me
and one time
small human
stepped on my body
told his friend later
it went crunch
like breakfast cereal.

25 June 2015

Disillusionment, A Godsend: Part 2

Part 1 is here.

What is there to replace?
An alcoholic? Low cut shirt and a trip to the bar. I can just look in the mirror for that.
A narcissist? I can just look in the mirror for that.
The constant threat of being cheated on? Craigslist personals.
A big, flaccid dick? Pretty sure they sell those on Amazon.com. No drama attached. Free shipping.
The broken record that is you talking about how awesome you are? I’m drinking amnesia bleach.
Stumbling, idiotic tyrant, I don’t know what I saw in you.
I thought “boring” and “drama king” were antonymous. I thought a lot of things wrong.
Not sure how I conjured the delusion that you were exciting, or offered security.
I saw what I wanted to see.
Not anymore.
Thank God (/the Universe) I found you fucking your ex.
Illusion torn away.
Life saved.

Written April-June 2015


Disillusionment, A Godsend: Part 1

Not the fetish princess of your fantasy delusion,
not a pellirojo, not Asian, with a perfect
ass and body and tits and gaping dickhole mouth,
no vision of desire to you.

The snow floats down in a symphony onto frozen,
icy grass, dead crops, and sleeted roads where cars
swerve violently, driven by numb, clenched hands.

Nor am I what you want(ed)
and who said life was fair? Or that we all get
what we want? Or that we all even get
what we deserve?

Most don’t.
In sub-Saharan Africa, they don’t. In Haiti, they don’t. In China, they don’t.
Most of us, the general populace, are not royalty
and most women, the general populace, are not
porn queens.

On a white, mud-tracked carpet
unrolled beneath my feet, I ascended steps
& boarded a small airline, followed by a few other
passengers. I reached, stuffed my carry-on in the
overhead compartment, the Sasquatch of a Latino
flight attendant walked up, then down, the aisles,
and read the usual scripts about safety and how to
survive in case of a crash.

There was nothing particularly
attractive about her, in your eyes I simulated,
while she buckled her thick midsection
into the seat at the front of the cab,
and we all got ready for takeoff.

We reached peak velocity.
The ‘fasten seatbelt’ light turned off.
I went to the bathroom to cry at the pain
of wanting so badly but never being
good enough.

Walking down the aisle back to my seat, I saw
a plane full of women
all normal looking, none photoshopped
none porn/beauty queens.
none ogres.

All of us somber.
None of us good enough.

And that was the moment when I stopped giving a shit about your fucking delusion.

Written December 2013-June 2015

15 May 2015

black & white

We admitted we were powerless over neurotransmitters
and that our lives had become unmanageable.

I’m a blackhole vacuuming
it all up into me & giving nothing back.

I formed when a star died.
I tried to get the star back.

But her bones were crushed
in the wasteland of my belly.

When I die, I’ll become a white hole,
pouring all I’ve swallowed back onto the world.

I didn’t want to be bipolar. No.
Habits emerged, I collapsed under their gravity.

You wouldn’t stand in the path of a black cat
so don’t cross my event horizon.

14 May 2015

the Charmer

Huddled in sloppy grey slush, hunched upper back swaddled in oil-stained drapes,
homeless piss & stale cigarette aroma billowing off the skeleton of you,
exposure to frigid air scorches your goose bumps to cold hives.
 
Your teeth are shining perfect. What do you even eat?
Under the bridge, you breathe in noxious, nutritious car exhaust
or perhaps you feed on scrap metal, did you hunt down the junkyard dog?
 
I hired you from Craigslist for a legit job in my car shop,
you fixed cars OK but pissed off my customers by stinking up their Cadillacs & Crown Vics.
I adopted you, fed you a hot lunch everyday;
you broke half my tools & taught my dog to attack me.
 
If I let you sleep in my shed, will you hole up, agoraphobic, & keep to yourself? Please.
You wouldn’t settle for the shed, no, you wanted a church too.
So I built the church and erected wooden icons & hired a congregation
just to get you the fuck out of my life.
 
Every Sabbath, you’d stand at your podium and lead them all in sing-alongs
to your favorite songs—starting with country songs & moving onto the Blues.
You’d depress your entire congregation then be right there. Drunk.
 
Spouting new-agey regurgitated clichés, Eckart Toll type quack-talk,
webcam feeding your Narcissistic Supply, & people paid to see you
wasted & dirty, whiskey glass spilling with each dramatic hand gesture.
 
The crowd gluttonously consumed you with glitter in their wide eyes
as you led your glorious seminar on
positive thinking & the law of attraction & the power of now
& as you got more wasted, their cheers amplified,
filling Your Cathedral with your nonsensical awesomeness, your fallacious exuberance.
 
I knew. I knew what was coming when you wanted more land for your ceremonies.
I knew you’d clear the trees & dig the plots & auction them off online. You’d lead the procession of herd animals right to their own graves, paid for w/PayPal. 
Any traces of souls eaten with your shining perfect teeth.

Aliena Principio, Abrupta Finis

Strange Beginning, Abrupt Ending

In the beginning, the Aliens drafted blueprints of human civilization on paper & plaster models like sandcastles with Lego men & buildings like in dollhouses.

Up on their fluorescent blue flashing light floating platform hovering over the barren & desolate rock, they dropped down pellets of various colors that were encoded, like DNA, with specific instruction s on how to become an atmosphere & all the elements, then trees, water, earth, & pyramids. The pellets multiplied like cells & the Aliens zapped them with massive psychic energy, which emitted beta photons, to catalyze the process.

As their Petri dish incubated to fruition & they observed their creation, they did not smile but instead recorded & timed the first beings, archae, slouch toward life. They observed & recorded as archae turned to eukaryotes, then to sponges, then fish, then cyodonts, then squirrel-like mammals, then lemurs, then gibbons, then orangutans, then Neanderthals, then humans, then to consumerist fuck by-products. The Aliens watched as language was formed from guttural grunts, & agriculture began, & villages then cities were built, which marked the beginnings of the humans’ aspirations to cover the planet with their human anthill.

The humans (thought they) invented art. Their very existence was just the product of science as an art. Civilization was an experiment with controls (limited resources) & variables (“free will”). But humans thought they were divine, unique creations from a benevolent god &, based on this premise, each new empire that emerged tried to take as much space & as many resources from their neighbors as possible. They regularly performed genocide as a means of monoculture.

They were the special ones & “god” would protect them, bolster & uplift them, for their values were god’s values.

Said the Egyptians.
The Romans.
The Greeks.
The Dutch English.
“We’re the chosen ones.”
Chosen by whom?
“God.”

The Aliens observed, laughed amongst themselves, & ate alien popcorn with their minds up on their platform, nearby but hidden from humans by a dense layer in the space-time continuum. Humans knew about the layer but were too self-absorbed to succeed in navigating very far past the planet on which they resided. Their planet, a goddess. Humans were too busy obsessing over proving their points to realize the Truth that was obvious to the Aliens & unrelated to all the humans’ points.

Each of the humans saw his/her personal way as the best. Humans created hierarchies where some humans had access to most of the resources on Earth & others survived on the minimum. They chose their leaders arbitrarily, as if drawing names from a hat. But all of the paper slips in the hat were names of humans who originated from antecedents with the most resources, & with ownership over the most stuff. Imagine that—the humans thought they ‘owned’ things.

Humans even thought, at a time, that they ‘owned’ other humans. From the beginning of civilization, the Aliens watched as humans with penises displayed ownership over humans with vaginas. & penis-owning humans with skin containing lower concentrations of melanin violently displayed ownership over those with lots of melanin in their skin.

Eventually, the penis-owning low-chroma-skinned humans started blasting open the planet with explosives & pumping out decayed dinosaurs called oil. They burned oil to power all aspects of their society. They manufactured all sorts of stuff & transported themselves across the planet by burning oil.

By accruing the goods, they became reminiscent of their squirrel-like ancestors, who would brag about having the largest stockpile of acorns. The Aliens saw this similarity but the humans overlooked the comparison because they were beginning to believe that owning all the goods made them gods. The more dead dinosaurs they burned, the more god-like they felt, & the thicker the atmosphere of the planet became.

The rich humans kept getting more from the poor by taxing their wages, earned by manufacturing stuff the rich wanted. Rich humans manipulated less wealthy humans into sacrificing paper-that-could-be-exchanged-for-goods for them & convinced them it was for their own welfare.

The more goods humans accrued, the larger the volume of goods buried below the earth accumulated, heaping over in piles. Islands of the goods formed in the oceans. The chemicals humans made in labs were molded into goods that eventually where buried, underwent physicochemical reactions, & produced more chemicals, which leached out of the ground & into the water of the humans-with-less-goods. Lots of the humans that drank this water became sick, so they used other sickening chemicals to become less sick.

The chemicals they took went from stomach lining to blood stream across the blood-brain barrier & drove them insane. Their insanity/mania made them believe with even more conviction that they were gods. The gods started ending their lives with firearms & more chemicals.

The Aliens observed & recorded this. They sighed without emotion as they ionized the blunder with gamma ray lasers made of antimatter.

20 February 2015

Positive Thinking

I don’t have any answers
to questions like
why am I here?
what am I doing?
what do I want?
And they aren’t just going
to miraculously land
in my lap.
I’ve waited long enough.
Been in this monotonous bubble
of confusion, angst, self-pity
& hopelessness long enough.
Now it’s time to randomly
& fearlessly
decide
then do
something
even if it’s not “right”.
And my life will get better.

Nomad


Abandon one shell & all its contents impulsively, while he’s comatose & can’t catch me in nylon mesh. I’m petrified. Still I crawl, naked, now shell-less, no heat—cold in sand at night, nothing to eat. Next time I’ll stockpile barnacles & snails for hunger so deep to the empty core, incomplete. Keep crawling shell to shell find a happy ending & home, seek safe place to burrow away from the sun’s deterministic rays, look outside myself. Still don’t find a solid shell, so I’m soft & driven by a dry hypothalamus. Parallel to the seashore, I crabwalk across the grains of this absurd beach where Meursault killed the Arab…just because.

22 January 2015

Dancing under the stars w/ the boy of my dreams

Truth is, I’ve never slow-danced with anyone, which is why I wanna be a bride. Sobbing & captivated as you stared into me & sang & played “Night & Day” on piano, then “The Sound of Silence” on guitar. I got real applepiemoonshine-drunk midway into an ‘instant love’-locked-gazes-pupils-dilated-48hrs-straight encounter & we couldn’t part/we never parted. We got real. Deep. Fast.    Thrust-fault eruption the logical progression.   Cavernicolous by my genetic default; my fate settled over me like the brain-buzz of being flogged down w/ nightstick —a God’s Flood of inhibitory neurotransmitters. Then sleep. Wake up. Realize. Coaxed, shoved back to the sleep haze by reality-terrors. Then awoke, TV static via intravenous infusion, running me through the roof. But this can’t be real. Suction portal back to bed-body. No. Then TV static hum becomes blackhole back through the roof. Traffic sparse in early hours on Green St. Must be real. Then further: up through the gaseous atmosphere, up & out & can see dissociated Earth & keep shooting up through blackness to stars. At that point I wasn’t even moving anymore; the blackness rushed past me as I was still. The blackness, nothing, lack thereof: boy of my dreams.

16 January 2015

The City I Built

"Psychological projection is a theory in psychology in which humans defend themselves against unpleasant impulses by denying their existence in themselves, while attributing them to others." -Wikipedia

"Psychobabble (n): language that is used by people who talk about mental and emotional problems and that is seen as silly or meaningless : psychological jargon" -Webster

Have I built this City between me & you?
A body, an outfit, coat, scarf, gloves, hat,
a desk, shelves, computer, phone, cubicle,
a maze of cubicles, an office, fluorescent lights above, carpet below,
6 flights up, 6 flights down to ground level, filling the massive expanse of not a
building but a fucking Business Center, surrounded by more just like it
(banks, schools, stores, warehouses, houses, landfills, shelters, churches, malls)
with electrical lines & skyscrapers & jets & planes & satellites tacked to the sky,
a wall of traffic, buses & cars & trains all lugging like a monolithic barge
over the feet & miles of impervious surfaces which mask a convoluted sewage system,
& a conglomerated glut of other structures I can’t think of.
Blue sky, which reflected grey at New Year's on the buildings & clusterfuck
reflects on the rooftops & concrete now
like my mind reflects/projects over top of everything I see:
psychobabble, intense then dispelled feelings, complicating & simplifying
to the point that I truly can never see absolute Truth.
If you even exist (or am I just talking to & praying & pleading at the sky?)
I can never truly see you, God.
Can’t even truly see others, or myself.
I have built this City between me & you.
I have built this City of Denial.