| (no subject) |
[Aug. 28th, 2006|10:55 pm] |
I'm scared about moving
forward.
my life and the
days ahead of me
seem to be unreal.
I've no direction.
Half the stories and
songs that I want to write
are shit before I even
start. The other half seem
to start well but end in shit.
NO talent |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Aug. 28th, 2006|10:51 pm] |
Reformed
mind
and body sweat
too many weeks in new york |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Aug. 12th, 2006|05:51 pm] |
I can't write
like I used to.
But when I wrote
like I used to
I couldn't write
the way I did
before. |
|
|
| Tilt |
[Jul. 29th, 2006|03:19 pm] |
Weary, selfless, tiring,
the managable ineptness
of a thirty-five year old
Italian man.
tilt
A ten year old becomes
tangled in his father's pride.
It soaks into his pores, consuming
every remnant of the obnoxious
eight year old that I remember.
I fear he too has been infected. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Jun. 26th, 2006|12:50 am] |
|
Oh lordy me. Oh lordy. |
|
|
| Bits and pieces |
[Jun. 5th, 2006|02:44 am] |
That was it
the bartender
had had
enough,
He grabbed
our hero(?)
by the arms or
legs or hair or
something similar
and dragged him to the
alley and it's there
our hero(>)
slept.
He awoke at roughly
four a clock
and tried to
open the door,
he found it to be
quite locked. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Jun. 5th, 2006|02:36 am] |
go sweet,
gentle
bugger.
break my
shadowed
retreat.
Fuck off.
Big lips.
I love you. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[May. 30th, 2006|11:12 pm] |
|
Below my stainless steel feet the world is cringing. I step around the dog shit and onto the sidewalk. The faces blanket my worry. There are so many of them. I laugh as I ponder the masturbation of each person I pass. I try to spot the weird ones. The kinky people. I imagine they're easier to find than I would have thought. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[May. 30th, 2006|11:03 pm] |
Let it go
smoking
smirking
smiling
rough drafts
of break-ups
left over
from different
girls that
just sort
stopped talking
to me
years ago.
It's funny
how I love you,
drunk on the
rolly-coaster
with my hair
flying in
the wind.
But it's not
the wind.
It's just the
world standing
still.
Well,I refuse it. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[May. 30th, 2006|09:35 pm] |
Packin my bags and I'm ready to leave
Goodbye Mr. Orange County
Gone to see Ms. Angeles
Because you left us quite a mess
Need to find a home
Got a house but now I've got
no place to hang my coat
Walk down this long stretch of pavement
Haven't found a place to stay yet
Wonder if I ever will
see the people that I left behind me
Need to find a home
Got a house but now I've got
no place to call my own
Got nothin to show for my name
'cept my guitar and my ambition
Walking through these shadowed streets
Always lookin for somebody behind me
Need to find a home
I lived with you but now
I'm sad to say I'm all alone
Sing my song to the road ahead
Playin six strings just to make some bread
There's nothin in this world for me
but you and my guitar
Need to find a home
Got no one in my life
to help me carry this load
Makin my way from place to place
Found nothin yet but empty space
Silent sills inside my head
Flashin lights are dead to me
Need to find a home
This town is just another
place to roam, my friend,
Well, I'm home again
I'm at home again, my friend |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[May. 17th, 2006|09:28 pm] |
|
i don't know who my mother is anymore. I don't trust her. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[May. 17th, 2006|09:12 pm] |
low and rich
smiling upward
from the city streets
at the poor
men standing
inches from
the edge.
Them (the poor)
shouting
"If only I
knew sooner,
all the
things
I could
have done!"
And the rich
count their
blessings
(dollars)
over and
over because
that's all
they can really do
now. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[May. 15th, 2006|11:53 pm] |
|
I quit smoking about seven days ago. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[May. 15th, 2006|11:28 pm] |
$20
barely enough
to pay for the
gas.
Six strings
hammering
away at
nothing.
Five of
us there
in some
rich boys
pool house.
Playing
loud.
Shaking.
Rattling.
(we shake and
rattle the windows)
Life slowing
down. The
trees making
sense. Homeless
people winning
at slot machines.
Voodoo. Shit.
crack cocaine.
Enough.
The music
should be enough. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[May. 14th, 2006|05:48 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | down | ] |
| [ | music |
| | none | ] |
I listen to my mother
lie about me over
the phone to
my step-grandsomething
or other.
I can't do math
but I can write a
poem just like
Uncle Charley.
I'm skinny like
him too. And my
hair is curly
just like his.
"I wish he was
still alive. They
would have gotten
along so well."
He killed himself
when I was very young.
He turned the
car on in the
garage and let
the fumes get
to him.
It's a shame.
My mom and I
are fighting
right now. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[May. 9th, 2006|12:01 am] |
I cant stop writing though I have nothing to write about.
I have nothing inside me
anymore though
guts and uselessness
self-pity
I can't do anything
better than everyone.
I always knew that
but now it makes
everything seem
pointless.
I don't want it anymore. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[May. 9th, 2006|12:01 am] |
This is the passing
I have been waiting
for. THIS is the
realization of
faliure
THIS
is
me giving up
I COULD HAVE DONE IT ALL.
BUT THE GOD DAMNED FUCKING INK IN THE COPIER.
not enough for anyone. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[May. 8th, 2006|11:46 pm] |
there were too many nights
I should have been drinking
while I still had the chance
now I sit and think about
the phone
200 pounds
of plastic
shell and
wiring
dead to me
all
dead
my voice is heavy
the world is
spinning
get me out of my head
kill me
open my eyes
there is not enough
to satisfy anyone
let alone me
Nobody wants solution
anymore
all anybody wants
is a
reason
to take a pill
and
Summer approaches too quickly.
I fear the passing of
simple times that
I've taken for granted.
I fear the passing of
a time where mediocre
poetry was good enough
to fortify my stature
o!
we were gods
all of us, gods
in our own right.
Free to exist, capes were
okay, silly plastic
glasses with too many
lenses. The fishing
trips I never took.
Judgement set aside.
The whorehouses are
filled with former
gods, too drunk
with envy to realize
their own potential.
Too pompus to stop writing
when the poem should have ended
twenty-six lines ago.
Yeah, I counted. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[May. 4th, 2006|11:52 pm] |
This morning I woke up
too drunk off myself
to notice that the
world was changing for
the better (I think) |
|
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