Dreamscapes

Dreams keep me awake sometimes, they spill out into my wakeful world like oil over the surface of water, tainting my ability to see through it into the reality bellow.  Can you imagine, that with every moments rest came recollections of things that never happened, moments of tragic history amplified for maximum effect.  No amount of therapy cures this, no trick of thought or act of restful contemplation makes my nights pass with ease, and every night I wake, again and again, to thoughts of travesties that never happened.  I dream and I regret the musings of my mind upon waking, I feel self-loathing for the parts of me that cling to such hateful thoughts so much that they must play them out before my closed eyes when I am most vulnerable.  It has always been this way, since I was so young that dreams would seem closer to reality and I'd wake with screams ready to burst from my throat.  I would give up EVERY dream between now and my eventual death for a night of restful, and blissfully empty, sleep.  Again and again I awake in the night, startled to consciousness by things unremembered JUST ENOUGH to light a smoke and inhale it with fervor.  Some nights I get no more than an hour of rest at a time before being jolted aware again.  I'm playing hopscotch with the night, jumping from dream to dream until I can safely get out of bed for good and start my day.  These days are filled with half aware recollections of the previous night, of wanting JUST ONE MORE HOUR.  And so in the day I nap, for napping comes easy, napping under the revealing light of the sun seems more appealing than in harsh and mournful moonlight.  Sleep might never come to me with ease the way it does with the rest of the world, I might NEVER have that feeling of waking rested, nor get through a day without the urge to return to slumber.  I am denied this, because of my history, because of what was done to me and what I fear from the future.  So now I lay me down to sleep again, mid afternoon and well lit.  Pray the following night passes as easily...

Idk my bff jill

I DON'T KNOW WHY but this makes me really really really happy :)

Desperately Parking Subaru

THIS car keeps parking in the back lot of the apartment complex where I live, it seems innocent enough until…

you notice the license plate, which clearly reads DSPRTLY, or DESPERATELY!!!

I have no idea whose car it is, why it parks there, and why they chose such a grim vanity plate

HOWEVER it continues to show up parked directly behind my building, sitting there unassuming

like.  IT COULD BE ANYONE, or, ya know, a serial killer… that could be it too…

Fuck the Police

Old Blogs clutter the internet like feigned attempts at diaries. I remember being a kid and being surprisingly intrigued by the idea of a diary, a personal memoir to hold and keep and NEVER let anyone else see. AND each would begin with a few entries and never be touched again. It wasn’t until I hit high school that the concept took off, old marble notebooks filled with writing and scribbles and countless illustrations of impossible things.  NOW that is a memory, and like other memories its faded and tinted with sepia toned glasses, the color of nostalgia.  THINGS used to mean so much, every thought had weight, every dream had prospects and purpose, now ALL I want is to be able to write again. WRITE in the feverish way that made me great, that sickly strength of words that made my work soar and my poetry truly worthwhile.  SO I keep opening diaries, I keep writing the first page and hope for the second, and the third, and onward until FOREVER…

Free Association Exercise: Silence is Death

There is a tickle in my throat, it comes with silence.  Not the kind of lonely silence that comes with being by myself, but being quiet in the presence of others when NOISE would scream INAPPROPRIATE.  That itch feels like a need, a hunger, an urge to break the silence and open up the room to NOISE once again.  NOISE is caustic but comforting, it is ever present even it our most hostile attempts to conquer it.  Our heartbeats ring out the tune of life though we ignore it, air rushes in and out of our lungs though we hardly notice the breadth of breath.  Our very guts churn with sluggish outcries to be heard.  We are never silent even in unconsciousness, and when we no longer echo out brash calls against boorish silence, we will no longer live. Silence is Death, silence is the end of all things, the darkness has a voice and it whispers with quiet soundless impotence.  So I’ll cough away the end of life and open my lungs to breathe and DIGEST every morsel of raucous lividity and tomorrow when I wake I’ll turn on the music again.

-Nowhere-

-NOWHERE-
I feel my analogies burning
churning like so much brew
I tip my glass to nowhere
and I empty it anew
to be an empty headed thing
a cretin, a bafoon
one more sip to nowhere
and I'll end the night at noon

new born needs arising
sighing with the coming dawn
I spawn from seas of tranquility
into fertile lands of siren songs
and nowhere calls my name
like somewhere i've been before
psychosis grows i know it knows
i'll be there before long

so when I count my pills at night
its with a heavy heart
for when my head is splintered
the shards glisten in the dark
and shine a light towards nowhere
where I need to bleed to be
ecstatic and amorous
in love with being me

cheesy potatoes

waiting for the other shoe to drop
i took a hammer to the head
wound up back here instead
thinking of the ways we use to flop
take a roll in the hay
that futon never strayed
and so I say
take another shot today
spread myself thin
wise crack a jolly grin
I wrap my arms around your neck
in dreams and daytime memories
so please
come to me
I slip my heart out of my chest
present it to your beating breast
and free
the love in me
I held back for so long
the waves crest with this song
so come to me
tonight I plead
I wait for you with yearning needs
My skin desires your breathes breaze
come to me
come to please
me