etta

insert empowerment
original verse
stripped of our innocence
compelled to rehearse
you are pure gold
you render me inert
you are pure strength
and i am just hurt

3.

put it nicely. put it plain.
my arms around you shivering. they have free will.
they know the rain.
choo choo. wave.
bye now.

you are not real. once you were real.
my eyes can't find yours, deep. blue horizons.
i just want to feel.
hurry, there is no time.
smiles.

and gloves without fingertips, and shoes without soles,
and fingernails bitten, skin dry from the cold.
so the past is my every day, yours is forgotten,
and the future holds april may, apples gone rotten.
i can run through the streets at night, run through the snow.
i can bang on your door again, just to let you know.
that i am just skin and bones, hoping for flesh,
to touch mine with tenderness, i shrug off the rest.
a mess.

that was silly. said in fun.
my arms have still got you within. they are sad.
time to run.
vroom vroom. wave.
bye now.

crumble.

witnesses of history. will any of this matter? will all of our small actions come together to form an era worth noting? worth writing about? who will study our why's when we have all passed? time itself is endless, and our generation is accumulating perspectives and angles. too many. at what point do we define ourselves as an age? when can we finally say that we have reached tomorrow? the new world. i have counted stars from the wet grass, and am aware that i am of no consequence. falling short of ideological triggers, or the massive buttons of revolution, all we have left is to be original. this is my realism, my optimism. i can live the life that countless have lived before me, but i will string thoughts together in an entirely unique way. words, boggling in their familiarity, yet sucking out frail emotions that most people are afraid of. think different. be different. count the stars in your own head.

2.

"the hopeless" (otherwise known as "the lover")

-- you need to know that i don't feel for anyone else what i feel for you... i've never had this feeling about anyone else.

-- i uhh... i don't know what to say about that. why do i need to know that?

-- i guess it's not so much that you need to know, but that i need to tell you. because my life is at a stand still... and when things pause, i think about the possibility of you. just being nearer to you.

-- i can't say the things you want to hear...

-- you don't ever have to say anything to me. i'm treading rough waters, and i can continue on like this forever, just knowing that i put it all out there, just waiting for you to come around... waiting for a chance. doesn't matter if it never comes. i've done the talking... i can do the waiting.

-- ...i don't want you sitting around waiting for something that's never going to happen. that's ridiculous.

-- i don't mind... everything else sucks anyways... you're all that i've got, as well as everything that i don't. a reminder that love might exist.

-- whatever...

-- hey. angels shouldn't use such common phrases... don't try to be everyone else. because you can't.

-- you know, you're an idiot. you put me in awkward situations, and make me feel terrible for something i can't control. what's wrong with you?

-- ... the idiot with no value and nothing to lose, why shouldn't he throw his hat in the ring? my hat's no good on my head anymore.

the flow.

"spice. space. spooked. spoon. a spontaneous boom. sweet graves, gravitate my way. head first into waves. goons. all over your todays, all up inside your maze. never getting out. bout to shout. hey. be brave. be brave. i'm a wing span. is it too soon?"

"hey bud, do you mind? i'm trying to concentrate on something... i don't mean to be a pain."

"sure thing, wedding ring. same old bling. every day, every way. but we're the day. we're the way. all over bay street, may fleets. old beats. old sweets... sweaters. better. batter. don't flatter me. i'm full of chatter. box... pull up your socks, for you. dress and undress, for you. it's time we recognize the mess. bless. check check here comes the test."

"seriously, though. i can't concentrate when other people are talking... what are you even saying?"

"just speaking. geeking. peeking at you. sleeking, freaking. frying. lying. dying my eyes blue. one. two. too too true. shout old school stanzas all over you. wild... child. spicy or mild. rice, nice. sticking to your cutlery, butlery, rubbery, all too much muggery. it's bugging me. goatees, gold teeth. gold me. silver you. children, platinum through and through. boo boo. life is life and life is death and i smell painful memories on your breath. rewind. unwind. harsh grind. time... yes, time. you'll be fine."

"all right, forget it. i'm just going to leave. i don't know what you're talking about."

"yo... quiet down. you're fucking with my flow."

the fool.

1*
over and over and under, and over. overt your eyes, lend me your mouth. your breath is my breath, and it is in my way. you joker. type your emotions, hold on. i can hear a song in your chest when the music fades out. i can hear a bird. fuck the rest. you joker. yesterday we were a trifling pair, duo, trouble on the hills, a horizon of no fortune. and now we are trying to be something. the makings of a something. chairs and essays and grading schemes. evaluation, and trying too hard... and dreams. so many small momentary dreams that i can't remember them all, and i shouldn't. don't get your hope up, little one. don't cling to a hope. because if you care then you can lose, and only winners sleep well.

2*
insert myself into a letter, and
send it to you, half way around
the earth, marching forward in
your shadows. so that you
will never be without the love and support you deserve.
'go with your gut' you tell me.
my gut is a fool for your
imaginary emotions, it will
always want to be near you.
yearning.
so i tune out my gut,
and drone into a loveless future.

3*
come come go go fall.
as children we got dirty, played in the sand.
now i wash my hands. now i am boring.
will you still run into cold water?
will you be me if i become someone else?
because i don't want to die.
in in out out fail.
i would fall if it meant your ascent.
your attention is the be all end, all
i need is what i had once,
only for a split second,
and have lost.
i don't need tomorrow.

1.

"the score-keeper" (or "how gunslingers always lose")

- hey bud, you wanna play chicken?
- nah, let's do something else.
- come on, play. don't be such a pussy.
- i'm not a pussy, man. i can kill you in chicken.
- what? i never lose. you're a fucking baby.
- fuck you.
- weren't you watching, teddy? i made him crack so easily.
- fuck you. i don't care what you say. i never give a shit what you're saying.
- i destroyed you like ten times yesterday.
- who the fuck is keeping score?
- i'm keeping score, you wuss. i made you cry all day.
- fuck you. your forehead is huge.
- oh, you want to go again?
- nah, forget this. stupid fucking game anyways.
- that's because you're soft and always chicken out.
- sure.
- even ask teddy. he saw it all yesterday. he was keeping score. weren't you, teddy?

they look at teddy. he's sitting cross legged on the grass, pretending that he's not paying attention. - you both lost. you're both fucking losers.

- whatever, teddy. don't be a bitch.
- he's right. and you're an asshole. i'm leaving.
- hey man, it's just a game. i was just fucking around.
- you have no friends. nobody fucking likes you.
- i've got more friends than you. who the fuck needs you?
- right... fuck you.

intro.

"if you are hesitant before beginning, than consider what is to come. the following stories are not enjoyable. there is no sense, old or new or powerful. they cannot be understood except in heartbreak, and when the heart is broken, what is left but empty tomorrows? could you stand by a lake as the day ends and still feel happiness? the light that allows us to see each others faces has a history that you could never commit to memory. who are we to smile, to know true joy, if the world we inhabit is sad? to read what follows is to question why you read. i am no storyteller. i am a ball of love, curled in a corner. i have spent hours spewing this love, and yet i still don't understand what it is, or what it can do. but still, despite the gaps in knowledge and understanding and memory and composure, the ink is still there to look at with your eyes. these are just words. and this book is nothing. no promises. if someone makes you a promise, just go along for the ride, and wait patiently for the moment to come when you can stand with your mouth an inch from theirs, and call them a liar."

[]

sleeping, warm. compromised by the day.
stagger towards the kitchen and the bright.
mug. hot drink. steam on my glasses.
can't see for a moment. don't want to.
don't need to.
i know what this is all about.
stay in the mug. warming palms.
glance at the ceiling.
a note that reads, "keep waking up each day
and getting out of bed."
my handwriting.
done. tough part's over. a deep breath.
now. what's next?

.

come back. come back. i need you now.

tommy.

time... you can all take your eyes and keep them on the walls.
mine, stay on the windows.

walking backwards with my thoughts closed.
laughing.
becoming. the running has made me a coward. the running
is the only thing keeping me strong.

blame the boards as i cross the tracks.
blame the country road for the miles it lacks.
i blame time. myself... if taught by mistakes,
then i am king.
i can leave right now without having learned a thing.

sick. i think.
time...
teach me how to try.
please.
tired. i think.
fuck i'm talking to myself.
please.

a gentle ghost between me and the wall,
so so warm beneath all of this.
he talks of smiles, old friends. people i once knew.
he talks so quietly, though. i can barely hear him.
voice... he sounds like me, only happy.

he sounds like tommy... what happened to that kid?
what has happened? lost. tommy.
that's what they used to call me.
i think he is still here somewhere.
i think.
hugging pillow.
no thunderous applause. no thunder. no talking. please.

help me look.

*-*-*-*

do you believe in anything anymore?

alice gull

Now there is a moat around her he will never cross again. He will not even cup his hands to drink its waters. As if, having travelled all that distance to enter the castle in order to learn its wisdom for the grand cause, he now turns and walks away.

from Ondaatje's 'In the Skin of a Lion'

- The trouble with ideology, Alice, is that it hates the private. You must make it human.
- These are my favourite lines. I'll whisper them. 'I have taught you that the sky in all its zones is mortal... let me now re-emphasize the extreme looseness of the structure of all objects.'
In the darkness he can see just the faint aura of her hair.
- Say it again.